


Chasing You Redux

by rahleeyah



Category: City Homicide (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 44,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23578492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rahleeyah/pseuds/rahleeyah
Summary: This is the other side of the coin, the other direction Chasing You could have gone. When Nick leaves Homicide, he and Jen both struggle to move on.
Relationships: Nick Buchanan/Jennifer Mapplethorpe
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: as a refresher I'm re-posting the first chapter, a prologue of sorts.

_You've decided to end it haven't you?_

_Nick, this means everything to me..._

_Let's get married. Have kids. I've never wanted that with anyone before, but I want that with you._

_What if we do all that and then in two years' time we split up?_

_Well, it's worth taking the risk, don't you think?_

_Yeah, but I'm the one that's taking all the risk...you want a family._

_I want you._

_I'm sorry. I just...I don't have the answer yet and it's not fair to keep you waiting until I do._

The words had been spinning around Nick's head for days. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her face, saw the tears coursing silently down her cheeks, saw the defeat in her eyes, saw the pair of them sitting in that car while Jen brought the whole world crashing down around his ears. The case they were working didn't help; Matt was being evasive, Allie was being downright unbearable, Jen would hardly look at him, and all the while he was thinking about Chris Fleetwood, the miserable bastard at the center of all of it. Chris Fleetwood who, as far as Nick could see, had done nothing criminal, had only been foolish enough to fall in love with a woman who didn't love him back. It was love, Nick could see it in the way the poor man talked about Mischa Downs; he'd _loved_ that girl, and she'd led him on, and now the truth had come out, and he found out he'd been used, and she'd never loved him at all, and...well. It wasn't exactly the same sort of heartbreak Nick was facing - Jen was alive, after all, and he knew she'd never lied to him, knew her feelings for him were genuine - but still, it hit a little too close to home.

He'd been waspish and out of sorts all week, he knew he had. It used to be easy for him to shrug off Matt's ineffectual leadership, Rhys's naiveté, Allie's obnoxious know-it-all attitude; he liked his job, he liked his crew, and he had Jen to laugh with about it later, Jen who would catch his eye and grin, Jen who made everything more bearable. It was like a miracle, he'd thought that night in Matt's kitchen, that they should find one another again, that they should slot into place as easily now as they had done before. He had been married to Jen for a year, once, and the months he'd spent in her bed since their past with Hartono came back to haunt them only reminded him how beautiful it could be, sharing his life with her. Before that moment in the car, before she broke his heart - and her own in the process, he knew - he'd been thinking more and more about how badly he wanted to be married to her again. He had even, on one particularly whimsical occasion, wondered if it wasn't fate that threw them back together, gave them a second chance. Now, though, now that second chance had been blown, and his heart was raw and bleeding, and he couldn't keep a lid on his distress, couldn't seem to stop lashing out.

The final straw came in the briefing room; Allie, of all people, demanding to know what was wrong with him, why he was walking around like a bear with a sore head. He never intended to take out his heartbreak on the team, never wanted to be the one to sow discord among them; it wasn't his way. Nick was the problem solver, the mediator, he always had been, and he'd always enjoyed that role. Now, though...well, now nothing made sense. So he'd apologized to Allie - to all of them, really - and walked out of the briefing room intent on finding some way to make things better.

And the solution had come to him, in the end, an elegant way to make things easier for Jen as much for himself, and so on the following Monday morning he marched into Stanley Wolfe's office armed with a transfer form.

"Sarge?" he said, leaning through the open doorway. "Got a second?"

"Of course," Wolfie answered, gesturing for Nick to enter, which he did, closing the door behind him. Wolfie was sitting behind his desk, and Nick took a deep breath before marching towards him, and handing over his paperwork.

"There's an opening for a senior detective in Serious Crime and I've applied for a transfer. It starts next Monday. My application's been accepted, but I need your approval."

"I thought you were happy to be back in Homicide." It wasn't a question, and Wolfie didn't immediately reach for the form. No doubt he thought Nick had lost it; coppers spent their whole careers trying to get into Homicide, and most never made it. Nick had managed it faster than anyone else - except maybe Rhys - had cut his teeth in Homicide as a green detective under Bruce Dalton. But then SIS had come calling, and Nick traded his post in Homicide for a year undercover. When that operation was through there was no room left for him on his old team, and he spent four years kicking around in Vice until he finally got a chance to come back onside. Any other detective, having been granted a second chance at the most illustrious squad in the State Police, would have done anything he could to make sure he stayed put for the next twenty years. Only a fool would throw it away.

"I was - I am," Nick answered. "But I've decided to sit for the Sergeant's exam."

There was no reason not to, after all. He was pushing forty, no family, no reason not to put in the hours and take the promotion, the pay rise. He could devote himself to the work, now, in a way he had never really been prepared to do before.

"Never really thought you were all that ambitious," Wolfie mused.

No, he wasn't, really. The pay, the prestige, the bars on his shoulder, the politics; none of it had ever really mattered to Nick. He liked the work, liked solving the puzzles, liked knowing that the bullshit of the brass wasn't his problem. But if he had to leave Homicide he didn't relish the thought of starting over, being subordinate to strangers and bored in his work. He needed a goal, something to work towards, something to take his mind off Jen, and everything that could have been.

"Well, everybody's got to grow up sometime," he said with a shrug.

"There's no reason you can't stay in Homicide while you study. We might even find a place for you here once you've passed the exam."

Nick took one long, slow breath, trying not to let his frustration show. He hadn't anticipated this; he'd thought, before now, that Wolfie would understand his reasoning. Having to explain himself was galling, especially given the fact that he couldn't tell Wolfie the truth. The truth was he didn't want to leave Homicide, not really, but seeing Jen every day and not being with her was going to kill him.

"Due respect, Sarge, I've seen what Sergeant Ryan's been through since he was returned to Homicide, and I'd like to avoid that, if I can. If I'm going to be an effective Sergeant I'll need to make connections with other departments, see how they operate. This gives me the chance to do that."

Serious Crime spent a lot of time liaising with other departments, and those interactions would help Nick build his career long term. They dealt with the big cases, not just murder or racketeering or kidnapping but all of it; Serious Crime were on the front lines of every high-profile investigation, and had even been brought in to assist on a few of Nick's own cases in the past. It was a smart choice, and as Wolfie mulled over Nick's response he could only hope his Sergeant would agree. He'd need Wolfie's blessing to make the transfer official, and he wasn't sure what would become of him if he didn't get it.

"You're sure about this, Buchanan?" Wolfie asked.

"Yes, Sarge."

 _Yes,_ he was sure. He couldn't stay put, not any more. Serious Crime was his chance to run towards something, instead of just away, and Nick didn't want to let this opportunity pass him by.

"All right, then," Wolfie sighed, and reached for the form, and relief washed over Nick in waves. "You will be missed here, Detective Buchanan," Wolfie added as he signed his name at the bottom of the form.

"I'll miss Homicide," Nick agreed. He would miss it; there was something special about being a Homicide detective, being trusted with the task of finding justice for those poor souls, being surrounded by the best and the brightest the State Police had to offer. There was something special about this band of brothers, the family they had made between themselves, and Nick knew he wouldn't find that anywhere else. But as far as he could see there was no other choice; if he didn't get out, if he didn't make a change, he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep himself together. It wouldn't be fair to Jennifer, he thought, to hang around, always in her line of sight, miserable and missing her from three feet away. She lived and breathed for Homicide, and he wouldn't take it away from her.

"I'll let you inform the troops," Wolfie said as he handed the form back over.

"Thanks, Sarge."

Wolfie rose, and shook his hand, and then Nick turned and stepped out of the office, feeling somehow both better and worse than he had when he'd walked in. It was as good as done, now, this transfer; he'd walk the form down to Serious Crime and shake hands with his new Sergeant and then a week later he'd move into a new desk. No more Jen, no more Dunny, no more Matt, no more Rhys, no more Allie, no more Homicide. A fresh start, and the death of a dream, all at once.

He had no sooner stepped out of Wolfie's office than he practically ran into Jen; she was heading for her desk, cup of tea in hand, and when she caught sight of him she raised an eyebrow, as if silently asking him what he'd been doing in the Sergeant's office. She didn't need to speak; he understood her now, without words, the way he always did. _Christ,_ but she was beautiful, all golden skin and soft golden hair and bright grey eyes, the one woman he loved most in all the world, the one woman he could never have.

"Oi, you lot," Nick threw his voice far enough to draw the attention of the rest of the squad who were sitting at their desks in the bullpen. They were all here; _might as well get it over with_ , he thought.

"All right, Nick?" Duncan asked.

"Yeah," he answered. Jen was watching him curiously, but he couldn't look at her; not now, not yet. "I wanted you to hear it from me first. I'm transferring to Serious Crime."

"What?" Allie and Rhys spoke in unison, both horrified. Jen didn't say anything; she didn't need to.

"Time for a change," he said with a shrug. "I'm going to sit the Sergeant's exam, I would have been transferred eventually anyway. This way I get to go on my own terms."

"Good for you, Nick," Matt said with a forced cheeriness that set Nick's teeth on edge. He looked like he'd swallowed a lemon; perhaps it was a blow to his pride, to think that Nick could achieve the same rank as him. Not that it mattered to Nick; Matt Ryan was the least of his concerns.

"When do you go?" Duncan asked.

"Next Monday," Nick answered. "I'm just gonna walk this form downstairs, and then it'll be official."

"Bloody hell," Allie said. "Homicide's the best squad in the department and you're just gonna walk away?"

"Yeah, Allie, I am," Nick told her. And then, before anyone could say anything else he turned and made his way toward the lifts. They'd be full of questions, he knew, but he didn't trust himself to answer, not just now, not while Jen was watching.

He wasn't alone, though; he could feel her, just behind him, though he could not see her, though her shoes made no sound as she chased after him. It was always like that; Nick always seemed to know where she was, what she was thinking. That day in the car he'd known she was going to break his heart before she ever said a word. And though he wasn't surprised that Jen was coming after him, that she was going to demand an accounting from him, he could not help but wish, just for a moment, that she would leave him be, would let him go in peace. He'd said all he could say already; there were no words left in him.

He stepped onto the lift, and she joined him, the pair of them standing side-by-side until the doors closed. Nick reached to press the button for Serious Crime but Jen reached across him and pressed the emergency stop. They were locked together, then, and he had no choice but to look at her. When he did he saw the accusation in her eyes, the hurt there, and felt a sudden swell of anger rise up in his chest. It was her fault they weren't together, her fault he couldn't stay in Homicide, and she was looking at him like _he_ was the one who'd broken them both in half.

"Please don't do this," she whispered, and her voice was so very soft and so very sad that his anger began to fade, just a bit. Jennifer wasn't cruel, or vindictive, and he knew it. She'd called an end to things between them for the sake of both their careers. Jen was scared, and she didn't know what she wanted, and she'd given him his freedom out of a - misguided - desire to protect him. He couldn't be angry with her, not for that; she was confused and hurting, too.

"It's done, Jen," he answered.

"I don't want you to leave," she told him desperately. "You love Homicide, and I didn't want either of us to lose it because of...this thing, between us."

 _This thing,_ Nick thought faintly. It wasn't a _thing,_ not to him, and it hurt, just a little, to hear her dismiss it so casually.

"I love you, Jen," he answered. "Christ, I think I've loved you for years. But you aren't ready. You want Homicide. You live and breathe this job. You should keep it."

"We can still work together though, can't we, Nick?"

She was all but pleading with him, and for just one instant he wavered, and very nearly gave in. From the moment they met Nick had been unable to resist her, had always, without fail, given her everything she asked of him. There was nothing he wouldn't do, just to see her smile. But she'd made her choice, and Nick had to respect it. She wanted Homicide, and as far as he could see this was the only way for her to keep the job she loved. If he stayed he feared the tension, the bitterness might eat him alive, and take her down with him. No, he thought, better to make a clean break, and let them both get on with their lives.

"Not this time, Jennifer," he answered. "I can't do this. I can't sit next to you every day, and go home without you. It's not fair, not on either of us. I wanted you, not the job. This will be the best thing for both of us, you'll see. It'll be easier on you, if I'm not there."

"Nick-"

"It's done, Jen."

He reached out then, and restarted the lift. It whirred to life, and Jen settled back against the far wall, her arms crossed over her chest, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

"I don't want to lose you," she said. Nick nearly laughed; if she didn't want to lose him, she'd done a poor job of showing it. It was Jen, after all, who'd called things to a halt between them. And then it occurred to him that, perhaps for the very first time, he had no idea what she was thinking. He didn't know what she really wanted, if she wanted them to be friends, if she just didn't want things to change, if she thought that somewhere a few months down the line maybe she'd be ready to commit to being with him, completely. Maybe, he realized, it was because she didn't know herself what she was feeling. It would be up to him, then, to make this decision, and determine the course of both their futures.

"You know where to find me, Jen," he answered. "When you're ready, when you know what you want, I'll be there. But for now, I can't stay in Homicide."

The lift ground to a halt, and the doors slid open, and Nick left her there, leaning back against the wall, and marched out into the bright lights of Serious Crime, his heart heavy as lead in his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chasing you like a shot of whiskey_

_Burning going down, burning going down_

_Chasing you like those goodbye tail lights_

_Heading west to anywhere out of this nowhere town_

_Chasing that freedom, chasing that feeling that got gone too soon_

_Chasing that you and me I only see in my rear view_

_Yeah I'm laying here tonight holding someone new_

_Still chasing you, still chasing you_

* * *

_Six months later…_

"Another?" Nick asked, gesturing towards her empty glass. It was late, and the crowd in the bar was thinning out, and a headache was beginning to form behind his eyes, but he didn't want to go home, just yet, didn't want to face his empty house, his empty bed. She was a nice enough girl, and she kept leaning towards him while they talked, her eyes wide and warm, her smiles frequent and genuine. It wasn't her fault that he didn't want her, not really, and offering to buy another round seemed like the kindest thing he could do for both of them; he could let her linger in this moment with him, let her enjoy herself a little while longer, keep himself occupied. There was no reason why he shouldn't, when he didn't have to work the next day and he was a free agent and her long legs were bare beneath her smart skirt, no reason except that she wasn't the the woman he wanted, and after all this time he was beginning to think that didn't matter so much. He'd left it up to Jen to decide what she wanted, whether she wanted him, and Jen hadn't called. She'd made her choice; maybe it was time for him to make a few of his own.

"It's late, I shouldn't," Juliet said, watching him closely.

"All right." Nick answered too quickly, threw back the rest of his beer in one go, somewhat relieved that she'd given him an out. Another drink and she'd be tipsy, and he'd have to call her a cab; another drink and he might offer to take her home himself. Another drink, another half hour of her looking at him like that, and maybe his bed wouldn't be empty tonight. Another drink would be a mistake.

"Go on, then," she said, pushing her glass towards him. "One more."

Maybe she'd seen it, how ready he was to leave, and decided to keep him with her. Maybe she knew if she didn't press her luck tonight she'd never get another chance; maybe the one drink she'd had was enough to make her bold. Maybe it had been a test, to see how Nick responded when she turned him down, and maybe he'd passed with flying colors when he hadn't objected or tried to change her mind. Nick didn't know; he'd only just met her, and he didn't know a damn thing about her. He wasn't used to this, being with someone whose heart was still a mystery to him. He didn't know how to make it work, how to get back that comfortable, easy feeling he'd had with Jen. She'd known him inside and out, and he could read her thoughts with just a look. There hadn't been a string of slow, fumbling dates for them, gradually learning one another's history around hesitant kisses; they'd gone from strangers to partners, forced to rely on one another utterly, their stories coming out over cartons of lo mein and rice, unhurried by dreams of romance. She'd been his friend, his confidant, his strong right hand before he ever even kissed her. The thought of starting over with someone new, the thought of having to find the words to explain himself, the thought of sliding his hands over someone else's thighs, just made him tired.

But he had offered, and Juliet had accepted, and it would be cruel to reject her now.

"Right, then," he said, settling back on his seat. He caught the bartender's eye and pointed to their two empty glasses, and the young man nodded, finishing up with the pint he was pulling before coming to their end of the bar. He took the glasses in silence, and Nick watched him, and Juliet watched Nick.

"No work for you tomorrow, then?"

She tried to make the question sound casual, but Nick recognized the insinuation in it just the same. If he didn't have to work, if he didn't have to be up and out of the house early in the morning, maybe it wouldn't be a problem if he didn't wake up alone. She knew what he did for work; Nick was only sitting here with her because he had to, because he'd agreed to give an interview on the Dane Majors case to get the papers off Waverly's back. It was the kind of PR bullshit he had always tried to avoid, but he was due to sit the Sergeant's exam next month, and after that, well, it was exactly the kind of bullshit he'd have to deal with every day. It hadn't been too onerous; Juliet's questions had been softballs. She was doing a human interest story, not a hard-hitting investigative piece, and she hadn't pushed him, hadn't tried to pull more information out of him than he was willing to give. She'd seemed more interested in him than in Dane, anyway.

"No," Nick said, taking their now-full glasses from the bartender, and passing one off to Juliet. She smiled, easily, untroubled, and clinked their glasses together.

"Me, neither," she told him, and then took a long drink.

Having established that neither of them had anywhere to be, Nick was growing more certain by the second that she wanted him to take her home. She was young; couldn't have been more than thirty, he thought, and given that he was staring down the barrel of his fortieth birthday he found himself somewhat uncomfortable with her youth. There was a sweetness to her, a softness that might have interested him in the days before he'd met Jen; Jen could be sweet, too, in her own way, but she was strong. Jen didn't need him to protect her. Didn't need him at all, it seemed.

"So what are you going to do with your day off?" Nick asked her. He had to say something; the silence was growing painful. That was new; he'd always preferred silence to pointless chatter, and Jen had always been content to sit with him without speaking, curled up against his side, reading her book or finishing a report on her laptop, content just to be near him. With Juliet, though, he worried that if he didn't speak she might ask a question he didn't want to answer. At least this way he could direct their conversation, could control it to a certain extent, and maybe this was how he'd get to know her, to find out what her interests were, what sort of person she was. Maybe he'd like what he learned.

Juliet laughed. "Oh, sleep in. Probably just sit in front of the telly for a while."

Or maybe he wouldn't like it; Nick couldn't remember the last time he'd slept past seven, and he spent his weekends working on the renovations for his house and studying for the Sergeant's exam. The only time he turned on the television was to watch a footie match. He'd never been good at doing _nothing,_ and though Jen had teased him for it she'd always been willing to step in and lend a hand, join him in whatever task occupied him at the moment. Maybe Juliet would, too, but the thought of Juliet standing beside him, painting one of the spare rooms upstairs, laying down the new floor in the kitchen, was not a particularly welcome one.

 _Jen's not coming back,_ he reminded himself.

"Sounds nice," he said.

* * *

Jen was so absorbed in her work she didn't hear him approach; she didn't even realize he was there until he plunked a cup of tea down in front of her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden intrusion.

"Didn't mean to scare you," Matt said easily, dragging the chair out from behind Nick's desk - no, not Nick's, she reminded herself, that desk belonged to Adam, the new kid they'd brought up from Arson. Matt set the chair down next to her, and then plopped down in it, holding his own cup of tea.

"You're here late," he said.

Jen hummed. "Yeah."

Yes, she was here late, but there was nowhere else for her to go, not really. Her house was quiet, and there was nothing to do there but eat, sleep, and think. At work she could think about the case, could try to unravel the mystery of the hour, but at home she inevitably thought about Nick, and she didn't want that tonight. Tonight she wanted to work until she could hardly keep her eyes open, and then collapse into bed, and maybe, maybe fall asleep without the loneliness eating her alive.

"You can finish reviewing those accounts tomorrow, you know," Matt told her. "There's no reason you have to do it tonight."

"I wanted to finish it," Jen said with a shrug. He'd put too much sugar in her tea, but she drank it just the same, grateful for something to do with her hands, something to look at other than Matt's face and the endless sea of financial records on her computer screen.

Matt frowned; apparently it wasn't the answer he was looking for.

"You've been working late a lot," he said slowly.

It was clear to Jen what he was doing, why he'd brought her this cup of tea, why he was sitting beside her now. There was no one else around; oh, Homicide was never completely empty, different teams working different hours every day, but their team was gone, and their corner of the floor was quiet. Matt had seen that something wasn't right with her, and he'd come to hear her out. It wasn't so very strange, that he should take such an interest; he had been her friend, once, the person she turned to before anyone else. It felt like a lifetime ago, those days before Emma, before Nick, before Matt had sat the Sergeant's exam, before everything changed. When she looked at him now she found it hard to believe that she had ever wanted him, had ever sought out his companionship; he wasn't the man she wanted to bring her tea, to offer her comfort.

Maybe that was unfair to him, though. Matt was a good man, despite his stumbles. He always tried his best. And he didn't know why Jen's heart was aching, why she'd been so dedicated to her job over the last six months, didn't know why she'd rather be here than at home. It wasn't his fault, that she'd kept secrets from him. It wasn't his fault he wasn't Nick.

"You can talk to me about it, you know," he said. "Whatever it is. We're mates, aren't we? The three musketeers."

Jen smiled a bit sadly at that. _There were actually four musketeers, you know;_ Matt and Simon and Dunny and Jen, saving the world, sharing pints at the pub all the coppers frequented, all of them single and miserable and bound together by their isolation. They were all still here - well, not Simon, god only knew where Simon was these days - but that camaraderie had faded. They hardly ever went out for drinks together any more.

 _Maybe we should,_ Jen thought then. _Maybe we should try._ Maybe this lonesomeness would fade, if only she reached out, and reconnected with the people around her. Maybe it would get easier, in time. Maybe she'd be all right.

"Yeah, we're mates," she said. "I'd just rather be here than at home, right now."

It sounded pitiful when she said it, but she knew Matt would understand, wouldn't judge her for it. After all, he had lingered in his office long after everyone else had knocked off; he was at work in the middle of the night, too.

"It's crap, isn't it?" Matt said. "We give everything to this job and we've got nothing left over."

As far as Jen was aware Matt had not seen anyone since Emma. Emma who was good for him, and who'd left him behind when he chose the job over her. It was a funny, terrible sort of coincidence, Jen thought, that they were both sitting here, having lost the ones they loved for the sake of Homicide. Wolfie was divorced, Rhys prowled the bars and went home alone more often than not, the only woman Duncan ever saw was his sister. Jarvis had never married, never had kids, never seemed the type. And of course there was Waverly, Waverly who had lost everything, and still came to work each day, as if she didn't know what else to do with herself.

 _Christ, we're a sorry lot,_ Jen thought.

"Yeah," she said. "It's crap."


	3. Chapter 3

"I mean, when was the last time you even went on a date?"

It was not the best idea Jen had ever had, going out to the pub with Matt. It was late, and they were both tired, and the pub was full of coppers and girls making eyes at coppers. She'd never been the type to drown her sorrows - oh, the odd glass of wine, here and there, a pint when she went out with the boys, though that hadn't happened in over a year - and sitting there, with Matt, she felt as if she could see a whole host of bad decisions, spiralling out from this one. It was a bad idea to come, it would be a bad idea to have more than one drink, it would be a bad idea to let Matt move closer, it would be a bad idea to let him call one cab for both of them when they were done. She could see the whole sorry story playing out before her eyes like a film reel, and the obviousness of it made it easy to avoid. Only one drink for Jen tonight, and a solitary cab ride home. Other people might have handled things differently; other people did, she knew. Simon had been one, drank too much when he was distressed, let his anger get the better of him, saw those bad decisions coming and barrelled into them with all the force of a freight train. Not so, for Jen; she'd worked too hard to gain control over her own life to let it spiral out so easily.

"Been a while," she answered. Perhaps her answer was evasive, and perhaps Matt noticed, but Jen didn't much care. Back in the old days, the days of _before,_ the boys had talked about their conquests proud as teenagers in a locker room, but Jen had never participated. They'd ribbed her for it, but she'd never given in, never given them details. It was different for her, the only girl in the room, and she knew it. The less they knew about her personal life, the better. And of course, in this instance, she _couldn't_ tell Matt; she couldn't confess to her Sergeant that she'd been sleeping with a man on their own crew, that she was the reason Nick had left them so suddenly months before. And she couldn't tell _Matt_ that she'd bent the rules for someone else, when she'd always refused to do so for him.

"You ought to get out there, meet somebody."

Jen laughed. "You ought to take your own advice."

Matt frowned, and stared into his pint. How long had it been, since Emma left? It was after Nick joined the team, she remembered, but before Matt decided to sit the Sergeant's exam. He probably hadn't much time in the interim for going out and meeting people. Where had he met Emma? _Dance class,_ Jen remembered suddenly, and tried to hide her smile. _Wonder if he still goes?_

"Never seems to be any time for it. The only people I see are you lot."

He grinned at her, a bit shyly, and Jen looked away, not wanting to encourage him. It happened more often than it should, coppers falling in with other coppers. In some ways it was inevitable; they had so little time left over for other people, and spent so much time together, and shacking up together often seemed like the easiest course. No need for going out, to dance class or trolling the bars or wherever else people went to meet people, not if there was someone attractive close at hand, someone who understood the job, someone who wouldn't ask too many questions, someone who wouldn't complain about long working hours or cancelled dates. It never ended well, though.

"We're all too much alike."

A startled expression crossed Matt's face, and Jen frowned; she hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"That's not a bad thing, is it?"

It hadn't been a bad thing, with Nick. The qualities they shared in common - their desire for justice, their sense of curiosity, their workaholic tendencies, their dedication to something outside themselves - had helped them build a strong relationship. A good relationship. Being with Nick was like... _it was like coming home,_ she thought, and dropped her gaze down to her own beer. It had been comfortable, with Nick; it had been _right_. Lying in his arms, safe, and happy, she'd felt like she was right where she needed to be. But lying to the team had begun to chafe, and Jen's fears for the future had begun to keep her up at night. They couldn't carry on in the shadows indefinitely; something had to give. And she'd known, before he ever even brought it up, that Nick had long term plans for them. They never discussed it, marriage and babies and moving in together and all the rest, but she'd seen it in his eyes, in his fond smile, and it had terrified her. What would have come next? If she'd accepted him, one of them would have to leave, and that was the part she couldn't wrap her head around. She didn't want to lose Homicide, this occupation more like a calling than a job, the biggest piece of her identity. And she didn't want Nick to give it up, either, didn't want him to derail his career when there was every chance that in a year or two he'd grow tired of her, and regret having made such a sacrifice.

Only he was gone, now, gone anyway, because of her. It should have been a perfect opportunity for them to go all in, to see where their relationship might go. But Jen knew she'd broken his heart, and she couldn't stand the thought of seeing the pain written all over his face. And likewise the thought of marriage still terrified her; Nick was too good, too kind, too thoughtful, and she couldn't shake the thought that even if they gave it another go she'd just hurt him all over again. He'd been right; they were better off like this. He was too far away for her to hurt him, and if she was lonesome and miserable and missing him, well, she had no one to blame for that but herself. She'd made her choice, and she'd chosen Homicide.

"I wonder if it's worth it, sometimes," Matt said. "Putting in the hours, giving everything to the job. The job doesn't love you back. I mean, what do we get, at the end of the day? Super if you're lucky, shot and buried if you're not. When we're too old for it any more, what will we have left?"

"We'll know that we helped people." It sounded feeble, to Jen's ears, like an excuse that didn't quite stretch to the truth.

"Nurses help people," Matt said grimly. "Schoolteachers help people. They don't spend every day up to their ears in blood and dead bodies listening to another creep ramble on about how he killed his wife for cheating on him."

"Somebody's got to do the job, Matty. Somebody's gotta wade into the blood. We're good at this, you know we are. This is what we do."

"Sometimes, I really wish it wasn't."

 _Is he serious?_ Jen wondered, watching him as he took another long drink, and grimaced at the taste. Matt had made it to Sergeant, had his own team on the Homicide squad. He'd probably never move up the ranks; this was only his first command, but he'd made such a hash of it she knew he'd never find himself in Waverly's chair. Still, though, it was quite an achievement. Lots of coppers worked their whole lives and never came anywhere near that kind of success. Did he really want to throw the towel in? Just because he was lonely, and tired?

 _Is that reason enough?_ She wondered. Jen was lonely and tired, too. But she wasn't done, not by a long shot; the day was coming when she'd sit for the Sergeant's exam, too. She'd take over her own squad, but not on Homicide - she'd learned that lesson from Matt - and then... _then you won't have Homicide any more, either. Then you won't have the job you chose over Nick. Then what?_

"Yeah," she said, because she knew she had to say something. "Yeah."

* * *

"Are you always this quiet, after?"

Nick forced himself to smile, tried to relax, tried to hold on to the feeling of peace that had buzzed through him, however briefly. No, he wasn't always quiet, after; with Jen…

_Don't think about Jen._

It wouldn't do, to be thinking about her now, not when there was a beautiful woman lying naked by his side, propped up on her elbow and watching him fondly. Juliet was a nice girl, and she deserved better. Besides, Jen hadn't come calling, and he knew she never would. There was no reason to think about her now, not when he had a chance for something else, something new, something normal. A nice girl, a nice shag, someone to talk to; there was nothing wrong with sleeping with Juliet, seeing where it led. No harm, no foul.

Why, then, did he feel so absolutely bloody rotten?

"You're really not much of a talker are you?" she asked him wryly.

Nick grimaced. "Sorry," he said. She was nice, and the sex had been nice, and really, if he wanted this to work, if he wanted to move on, or whatever the hell he was doing, he knew he'd need to talk to her. He was lying flat on his back, but he lifted his arm, let his fingertips brush against the soft skin of her bicep. Everything about her was soft, and warm, smooth and beautiful, and they'd had fun - he thought, he hoped - and she was _here._

"It's ok," she told him, grinning as she pulled herself up so that she could look into his eyes. "I'll just bug you with questions"

Nick barked out a laugh. She was sweet, too, and that was nice, he thought. Nice to be with someone _nice,_ someone who didn't spend her days wading through the worst humanity had to offer. _But she'll never understand the work you do, and you'll grow tired of having to explain yourself, and she isn't brave like Jen. She isn't strong like Jen. She won't want to stick around._

"I thought the interview was over." Better to make a joke, he thought, than say what he was really thinking.

"Call me curious," she said. Of course she was curious; she was a bloody journo. But what was she curious about? They'd met because of the article she was running on Dane Majors. Was she still just angling for more information? Did she think a shag was a small price to pay for a good quote?

"Seriously, is this for your article?" he asked as suspicion swirled through him.

"No, it's for me," she answered at once, and he relaxed, infinitesimally. "I want to get to know you better. Is it a crime?"

She was teasing him, he knew. And if she was teasing him she must have felt safe, comfortable here with him, even though they'd only just met, only just fallen into bed. Though it had been quite some time since Nick had done this particular dance he recalled the steps; talking to one another now, sharing little secrets, little pieces of themselves, that's how they'd get to know one another better, how they'd come to see if they had any chance for a future. Only Nick didn't want a future, not with her or anyone else, didn't want to talk about his family and his childhood and his favorite foods, didn't want to stumble through the endless litany of questions and answers that accompanied a new relationship. Jen had always known what he was thinking, he hadn't needed to -

_Stop._

"No," he said, smiling for her sake. "I'm just not used to…"

_Not used to this. Not used to lying next to someone who doesn't know me already. Not used to having to explain myself. Not used to you._

"What, people showing an interest?"

She was watching him curiously, like he was some kind of puzzle she was trying to solve. That was something, at least; she was quick, and clever, and that drive to find answers, to solve the riddle, that was something they shared in common. And she was, truly, a beautiful girl.

Nick reached out, let his fingertips trail against her cheek. It felt different, touching her, different than it had felt with Jen, but they were very different women. Maybe different didn't have to be bad.

"Talking about myself," he said. It was the truth, after all; he'd always been a private sort of person, never said more than he needed to. He'd always preferred to listen. It seemed like Juliet wanted him to talk, though, like she wanted to hear what he had to say. Maybe that was a good thing, too.

"I'm just wondering what's going on in that head of yours," she said. Nick's hand had fallen away from her face and it was her turn to reach out, her fingertips brushing through his hair just above his temple. It wasn't exactly a question, and so Nick didn't answer it. Didn't tell her that every second she spent beside him he was comparing her to someone else, measuring their every word against every word he'd ever said to Jen, trying to work out which way was up. If she meant to ask a question he never heard it, for in the next breath her mobile began to ring.

"Sorry," she said, her expression sheepish. In truth, Nick was relieved by the interruption; they'd drifted into dangerous territory, and it was easier just to let her go. And so he did not protest, only relaxed against the pillows and watched her, naked and beautiful, sliding out of his bed, picking up his shirt and shrugging into it like it was the most natural thing in the world, like she belonged there, with him, like she was meant to be part of his life. Maybe she was; Nick couldn't say for sure, but she was here, now, and he'd make the best of it.


	4. Chapter 4

Matt kissed her cheek, as he held the car door open for her, as she slipped past him and into the waiting taxi. That decided it for her, more than anything else. The lonesomeness, the late hour, the beer she'd drunk, all of that had brought her close to giving in, but it was Matt's soft lips against her cheek that pushed her over the edge of her own indecision and into a freefall of impulsivity.

It wasn't Matt's lips she wanted. It wasn't his clumsy affections, his eager hands, desperately grasping for the closest thing to relief he could find. That's all he was looking for, taking her out for a drink, pressing his luck; _relief,_ a chance to do something right, the faintest shred of hope that maybe, _maybe this time,_ he'd find what he was after, and the loneliness, and the heartbreak, and the crushing doubt might ease. She could see it in his eyes, could see how much he longed, not for _her,_ necessarily, but for connection, for something that would give meaning to his life, something that would make him feel whole. And Jen knew what it was, to yearn for such a thing; she knew what it was to be weary of a quiet house and an empty bed, and she knew that when Matt looked at her he saw a lifeboat, come to rescue him from the sea of his own misery.

But she couldn't be that for him, or let him be that for her. _You don't screw the crew._ That immutable truth had been the reason she let Nick go, the lies and the sneaking around more than she could bear, the thought of losing the security of her professional career for the sake of love too terrifying to even be considered. She hadn't been willing to make that sacrifice for _Nick,_ Nick who was strong, and steady, and tender, and brave; she damn sure wasn't about to take that risk for Matt. Matt was a mate, and a good one, but he wasn't Nick.

_You know where to find me. When you're ready, when you know what you want, I'll be there._

The promise Nick had made to her swirled through her mind. Nick wasn't in Homicide, any more. He was in Serious Crime; he'd just made Sergeant, just been handed his own team, and by all accounts he was flourishing there. The other questions - whether he'd still want her after she'd hurt him so deeply, whether he'd changed his mind over the six months since she'd last seen him, whether she'd survive sharing her life so completely with another person, whether they'd throw all of themselves into a relationship only to break each other into pieces a year or two down the road - those questions remained unanswered now, as they had been half a year before. But even if it all fell apart, even if they shattered beneath the weight of this love they carried for one another, Nick wasn't on her crew any more, and when the dust settled she'd still have Homicide.

_It's worth taking the risk, don't you think?_

Matt closed the taxi door behind her, and she took one shaky breath before giving Nick's address to the driver.

The car pulled away from the pub, and Jen leaned back against the seat, her entire body buzzing with nerves. She'd only had the one beer; she couldn't blame her recklessness on the alcohol. This decision was hers, and hers alone, the end result of six months without Nick by her side. She'd spent four years without him before, resigned to the loss of him, but that period of separation paled in comparison to this one. Now she knew Nick, as she'd only dreamed of knowing him while they were undercover, and now she knew how sweet, how... _wonderful_ it could be, having him beside her. Every little thing had been better, when Nick was there; cooking dinner, jogging through the park, folding the laundry, falling asleep at the end of a long day, _everything_ had been right, with Nick. She couldn't shake the feeling that she belonged with him, and she knew she'd never forgive herself if she didn't at least try to set things right.

Her heart raced with the righteous adrenaline of purpose as she went barreling through the night, towards him. Perhaps she should have made this decision sooner, should have gone to him before his transfer to Serious Crime went through, but she hadn't been ready, then. The time they'd spent apart had been a test, of sorts, a taste of what her life would be without him in it, and had revealed that without him she felt somehow incomplete. The work alone would not sustain her; her heart had starved and grown weak without the nourishment of love, and she feared it would wither entirely should she wait any longer, feared one day she would wake up and find herself just like Matt, wild-eyed and hating the job she'd sacrificed everything for.

 _This is our chance,_ she thought as she watched the city pass her by through the window of the taxi, cloaked in darkness. Nick had made it clear he would not push her, would not pressure her, would not beg; the choice was hers. It had always been that way, with him. He would lean in close, but would not close the distance between them, would wait until she was ready to join him, would wait until she was certain. There was a streak of something very good, something very decent running right through the heart of him, some sense of chivalry - for lack of a better word - that would not permit him to press his affections unless he knew without a doubt that they were welcome. It would fall to Jen, then, to move things forward, to go to him, and tell him what she wanted. And what she wanted now, without a doubt, was him.

She wanted Nick, his gentle teasing, his strong arms. She wanted Nick, cajoling her out of bed with kisses on a Saturday morning, hiking through the woods to look at those stupid birds he loved so much. He would watch the birds, and she would watch him, and think how she loved him, this man who was so full of reverence for the world around him. She wanted Nick, his hand at the small of her back, guiding her through a crowded pub to the table where their friends were waiting for them, wanted laughter and camaraderie and the knowing smile he'd give her, the one that said without words _I love you, and I'm glad we're here, together._ She wanted her head on his chest, in the still of the night, the comforting sound of his heartbeat beneath her ear. She wanted his certainty, his strength, his dreams for the future. Nick was the kind of man who made dreams come true, who worked for what he wanted, who never gave up; that bloody house of his had been a wreck, when he bought it, and now it was a home, made whole by his two hands. Those hands could make her whole, too, she knew, if only she let him. There was nothing and no one stopping her now; she knew what she wanted, and in the knowing found peace, and hope.

As the taxi pulled onto Nick's street Jen was surprised to find another car parked in front of his house, and the hope, the certainty that had filled her only a moment before gave way at once to dread.

"Pull over here," she said to the driver, and though a surprised sort of expression crossed his face the man did as he was told, pulled the car to a stop two houses down from Nick's. There were lights twinkling behind his windows, and that worried Jen as much as the sight of the strange car had done, for it was very late, and it wasn't like Nick to stay up all hours, alone. _Maybe he's only just come home,_ she thought; maybe that car was a taxi, like the one she was sitting in. Maybe he had only just stepped through the front door, and in a moment the car would pull away, and the lights would flicker out. Jen held her breath, waiting, and then -

And then the front door opened, and a woman stepped into view. It was dark, and Jen was too far away to make out her face, but the woman was bathed in the glow of the lights from Nick's house, and Jen could see her dark hair, long legs peaking out from beneath a professional-looking skirt. The woman stepped through the door but something made her pause, and in the next breath Nick appeared, wearing only a pair of grey track pants, the kind he wore to sleep in on cool nights. The woman went to him, went up on her toes and kissed him once, and then he leaned against the doorway and watched her walking away from him, watched, as Jen watched, until the woman got into the waiting car, and drove away. When she was gone Nick turned and went back into his house, and Jen's stomach heaved.

_I'll be there._

No doubt he'd meant it when he said it. Six months before he'd promised Jen that when she was ready he'd been waiting for her. It seemed she'd made him wait too long, and she knew she could not blame him for this. She was the one who'd called an end to things, she was the one who had not rung him, who had not tried to reach out to him, when he'd made it plain he would wait for her to do so. And it was hardly shocking, that he'd found someone new; Nick was a handsome man, a strong man, a brave man, a good man, and any woman would be lucky to have him. Jen had had him, once, but she'd let him go, and now it was someone else's turn. Someone with dark hair, someone who kissed him like it was the most natural thing in the world, someone who was comfortable in his house, late at night, with Nick only half-dressed. All the cautious hope that had filled her moments before vanished entirely in the face of that stark truth. Nick wasn't waiting for her, any more. What good would it do, to go to him now? He'd found a piece of happiness for himself, and the thought of confronting him, begging him to give her another chance when he'd found himself a woman who knew what she wanted and didn't keep him waiting, was nauseating. Jen still had her pride, and that pride would not allow her to make such a pitiful display.

"Actually, nevermind," she said to the taxi driver. She gave him her address instead, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay.

 _What's done is done,_ she told herself. _You had your chance, and you lost it._


	5. Chapter 5

It was the shrill ringing of his mobile that woke Nick the next morning; his sleep had been troubled by strange dreams, but the sound of his mobile shattered the images like glass and the substance of those dreams escaped him, leaving behind only a vague sense of dread. It was terribly early still, and the sun had not yet risen beyond his curtains. It was usually the dim light of dawn that woke him slowly on Saturday mornings like this one, peaceful and easy, and usually once he opened his eyes he'd go out for a jog, and then sort out his plans for the day. Not so now, it seemed, for despite the fact that he was rostered off for the entire weekend the mobile continued to buzz and flash at him, reminding him that he could not ignore his duties indefinitely. He'd chosen this life when he chose to be a copper, had known that his time would never really be his own, and he knew that choosing to advance up the ranks only indebted him further to his profession. Still, though, he didn't regret it; working would spare him the agony of having to address what had happened the night before with Juliet, and he was grateful for any excuse to put that off a while longer.

"Buchanan," he barked as he answered the phone, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Sarge, it's me."

The voice was a familiar one; it belonged to Joanne Conner, one of the detectives on his new squad, and she sounded anxious. There could only be one reason why Jo was calling him before dawn on his day off; something must have happened, and whatever it was it couldn't be good.

"What is it?" he asked, already sitting up, adrenaline beginning to course through his veins. There was an urgency to every case - every copper knew the trail went cold fast, and time was of the essence - but Serious Crime only handled the most delicate cases, and had elevated that urgency to an artform. Kidnappings, serial crimes, anything to do with anyone famous or politically dangerous, murders or attacks on more than five victims, Serious Crime dabbled in a little bit of everything, as needed. It made for a nice change of pace, in some ways; Nick and his people liaised with every department in the State Police, and each day brought with it some new challenge for him to overcome.

"Somebody's killed Philip Shanahan."

"The mayor?" Somebody had killed the lord mayor of Melbourne; now _that_ was worth getting out of bed at 5:00 a.m. on a Saturday for. Nick was already on his feet, shuffling around in search of a clean pair of trousers.

"Yeah," Jo answered. "Report of shots fired came in about an hour ago. Divisional units called Homicide and they sent someone over. But Sarge, here's the weird thing."

 _Weirder than somebody killing the mayor?_ Nick thought.

"Homicide called us, because Mark Stone and Carole Johnston were also killed tonight."

"Two city Councillors and the mayor," Nick sighed. _Shit,_ he thought.

"Yeah. What're our orders, boss?"

He was still adjusting to that, being the boss. It had never bothered him before, taking orders from other people; his pride had never suffered for it, and there had in fact been many times in the past when he had been downright grateful that he wasn't the one calling the shots. Not any more; now everything fell to him, the responsibilities and the consequences.

"Where are you now?"

"On my way to the Shanahan house."

"Right. Here's what we'll do. I'll meet you there. I'll ring up Brooks and Howard and send them to the Stone house, and then I'll send Peters and Burrows to the Johnston house. Orders are to cooperate with Homicide and gather as much information as you can. I'll ring Wolfe over at Homicide, and we'll arrange a briefing for say...9:00."

"You got it, boss," Jo answered, and then the call ended, and Nick was moving. He dressed as quickly as he could, and then he fired off his calls, one after another. Each time the phone rang he was met with a sleepy, disgruntled voice on the other end of the line, but news of what had happened perked his people right up; this was a once-in-a-lifetime case. Nick had seen a lot of strange things in his life, but this one was the strangest yet. It would be a headache and a half, he could already tell; every Councillor in the City of Melbourne would be screaming for protection, and for answers.

He left the call to Wolfie for last; it seemed the most important. Nick hadn't spoken to the man since he'd transferred out, but they'd parted on good terms, and he hoped for the best.

"Wolfe," he heard the old familiar voice on the other end of the line, and despite the gravity of their circumstances he felt his heart rate settle, just a bit. Wolfie was the best boss he'd ever had, and a damn fine copper, steady, calm, implacable, and clever enough to see his way through any mess. Nick might have been new to his role as Sergeant but Wolfie was an old hand, and he wouldn't let Nick lead their teams astray.

"Sorry to wake you so early, Sarge," Nick said.

"What can I do for you, Sergeant Buchanan?"

Nick filled him in briefly on the situation and his plans to address it. The calls hadn't taken long, but he could feel the clock ticking in time to the racing of his blood in his veins, and he was itching to get to his crime scene.

"It sounds like you've got everything in hand," Wolfie said when he was done. "I'll call my people and fill them in, and then I'll get to the station. Have all your updates relayed to me, and I'll prepare the briefing. We'll gather all our people in Homicide at 9:00."

"You got it, Sarge," Nick said, and that was that. With his final call made he raced out the door, heading for the Shanahan house and the start of what promised to be a very long day.

* * *

"Whoever did it knew what they were doing," Rhys mused, staring down at their victim.

Jen grumbled; she wasn't much in the mood to talk to Rhys, at present. She wasn't much in the mood for anything, just now. It had been terribly late when she finally made her way home, and when she laid down to sleep all she saw every time she closed her eyes was the vision of Nick, shirtless, kissing someone else. It felt silly to be concerned about her romantic troubles just now, when she was looking at the lifeless body of a long-serving Councillor, but the disappointment of seeing Nick with someone else stayed with her, her heart heavy as lead in her chest.

"One shot, between the eyes, close range," Rhys said, looking up at her now, a puppy eager for approval. Two years he'd been on the squad, now, but he still seemed a little wet behind the ears, still seemed to have so much catching up to do. There was so much he didn't yet know.

"The wife?" Jen asked, gesturing towards a photograph on a nearby sidetable, showing the dead Councillor and a blonde woman standing on a beach with their arms around each other.

"Uniforms are trying to track her down. There's no sign of her in the house, and a neighbor called in the shot."

"Right."

That was a question that would need an answer, and soon; was the wife just out of town, away for the night, or had she been here, and been taken?

"Any sign of a burglary?"

Rhys shook his head, but Jen didn't need to hear him say it; there was no damaged furniture, no drawers hanging halfway open, the television and a laptop still in place, and Mark Stone was still wearing a _very_ expensive-looking watch. The house was crawling with uniforms, but so far they hadn't turned up anything.

"No sign of forced entry, either," Jen mused.

"You think he knew the killer?"

"Either that, or he had some other very good reason for opening the door." A young person - or an old one - knocking on the door in the middle of the night with a sob story about a car accident, that might have been enough to get the killer inside. Jen's mind was whirring, already turning over all the possibilities, trying to view the scene from every angle. The house was clean, no doors or windows had been damaged, nothing taken, no defensive injuries or signs of struggle on the victim, one improbably well-placed shot; Rhys had been right about that, at least. It looked like a professional killing.

Before she and Rhys could get any further along her mobile rang; Matt calling.

 _Christ,_ she thought, _please let it be about the job._

"Mapplethorpe," she said as she answered.

"Jen, it's me."

 _Who else would it be, calling from your phone?_ She bit her tongue; there was no sense in sniping at Matt. It wasn't his fault that Nick had moved on, that all her hopes of rekindling their relationship were ruined. And it wasn't his fault that he wasn't Nick, that spending a few hours nursing a beer with him only served to remind her how much she didn't want him. He was a good man, Matt, and he deserved better than her snide comments.

"I've just been on the phone to Wolfie. Carole Johnston and Philip Shanahan were also killed tonight."

"And we're thinking the crimes are linked?"

Rhys perked up at that, rose to his feet and leaned in, eager no doubt to learn what other horrible things had happened tonight. Jen ignored him.

"Yeah, that's the thinking. We're going to liaise with Serious Crime on this one. Two of their people are on their way to your crime scene now."

"Who-"

"I don't know names, but I know it's Nick's team. That'll be nice, won't it? Like old times."

There was a ringing in Jen's ear; she barely heard him.

"Yeah," she said faintly. "Like old times."

Matt prattled on about logistics and a briefing later in the morning and Jen tried her best to focus, but the sound of Nick's name had thrown her completely off balance. They were going to be working together again; not as close as in the old days, surely, now that he was a Sergeant, but still, she'd have to see him, speak to him, share information with him, work with his team. She'd have to look him in the eye, and hide how much she missed him, how badly she wanted him, how hurt she was, to know that he had moved on. Nick had found a woman who cared for him, who he cared for, and Jen didn't want her own wounded heart to interfere with his happiness. He deserved that, she thought. He deserved a woman who made him happy.


	6. Chapter 6

Nick was standing in a corner of the briefing room, talking quietly to his team. And wasn't that strange, Jen thought, that he had a _team_ now, one Jen was not a part of; he had command of his own crew, had advanced his career and landed a sweet placement in one of the most prestigious departments in the State Police - after Homicide, of course - and he went to work with these people every day, these people who were not Jen, or Duncan, or Matt, or Allie, or Rhys. His life had changed so much; he wasn't just a detective, any more, but a sergeant in a different squad. New department, new job, new responsibilities -

 _New girlfriend,_ Jen thought glumly.

Had it only been last night, she wondered, had it only been less than twelve hours since she'd sat in that cab in front of his house, watched him kiss someone else and tried not to cry? How could it be that so little had time passed since those few precious moments when she had been so certain that he would be there waiting for her, when all her hopes had been so cruelly shattered? It felt a lifetime away already, the urgency of the case at hand putting some distance between this morning and last night. Some distance, but not enough, for as she looked at him now she could almost feel her heart breaking afresh. He was calm, steady, speaking in a voice too low for Jen to hear, his team watching him carefully, respectfully. Listening to their boss.

The case had to take precedence. Whatever Jen was feeling, however difficult it might be for her to look at him just now, she knew she had to keep her thoughts to herself. No one knew their story, knew how close they had come to love; no one knew she was the reason Nick left Homicide. To protect his reputation with his new crew and her relationships with her own she would have to keep a lid on her emotions, keep the devastation she felt from showing on her face. She couldn't let them see how it wounded her to be close to him now, couldn't give anyone reason to question to her, couldn't risk anyone finding out how foolish she had been, how completely he had loved her, how completely she had lost him. They had three murders to solve, and their personal turmoil would have to wait.

In fact, Jen intended to do everything she could to avoid being alone with him, to avoid facing the subject of _them._ She did not want him to know that she had gone round to his, did not want him to know that she'd found out about his new woman. Just the thought of confessing such a thing was galling; Jen had her job, and her pride, and very little else, and she wasn't about to risk either of them in telling Nick the truth. He'd moved on; maybe it was time for her to do the same.

* * *

Christ, this was killing him. His people were gathered around him, relaying the information they'd uncovered over the course of the morning and looking to him for guidance. Those five faces formed a ring in his vision, blocked Jen out completely, but he knew she was there, just the same. He could _feel_ her, sitting at the table sandwiched between Duncan and Rhys, could almost sense her refusing to look at him. For six months he'd longed to see her, had waited for her to turn up, looked for the sight of her familiar face each time the lifts opened on his floor and been disappointed each time she didn't appear, but this was altogether unexpected, and all the more unbearable, because he knew she hadn't chosen it. This wasn't Jen finally deciding to give him a chance, this wasn't Jen smiling at him softly, full of hope; this was Jen, on the other side of the briefing room, doing her best not to look at him, the morning after he'd shagged someone else.

Juliet had texted him about an hour before, thanked him for a nice time and asked if he wanted to meet again soon. He'd ignored it; there was too much work to be done, and besides, he didn't have the first idea how to respond. If he never saw her again he'd be perfectly happy, but she was a nice girl, and Jen was refusing to look at him. Juliet was a nice girl, and the case would end eventually, and then what would he have left? A quiet house, an empty bed, the sure and certain knowledge Jen didn't want him. Maybe it would be for the best, if he arranged to meet up with Juliet again when this was all over. Maybe if he spent more time with her, got to know her better, he wouldn't think of Jen every time he kissed her. Maybe everything would get easier.

 _Maybe not,_ he thought glumly.

"Right, you lot," Wolfie called as he entered the room. He'd already plastered photos of the victims on the whiteboards, along with their names and appointed offices, but he'd gone upstairs to hash the whole thing out with Waverly while the teams gathered, and she came trailing after him now. Nick gestured to his team and they found seats at the long table, slotting themselves in around Matt and Rhys and Allie and Duncan and Jen and a blonde man Nick didn't recognize who could only have been his replacement. They'd brought some new kid up from Arson, last Nick heard, and that fella looked young and green enough to fit the bill.

"Here's what we know so far," Wolfie began. He shot a look at Nick, and Nick nodded at him, let him know he was fine with his old Sarge taking the lead in the briefing. Wolfie had more experience and this was technically a Homicide investigation; Nick wasn't looking to step on any toes. He just leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms, and listened.

Most of it he knew already; the names of the victims, the method of their murder - each of them had been shot once, neatly, at close range, by a small caliber weapon. The murders had all happened at roughly the same time, so they had to be looking at more than one shooter, but the similarities between the cases - and the identities of the victims - made it clear the crimes were related, part of some larger plot, and not random coincidence.

"We've dispatched uniforms to the homes of the Deputy Lord Mayor and the remaining councillors, and we're keeping them all at home under surveillance for now. That is a massive show of manpower and the politicians are screaming bloody murder, so it goes without saying we need this wrapped up quickly," Waverly added as Wolfie's introduction drew to a close.

Nine councillors and a Deputy Mayor; the logistics of organizing protection for ten high-profile people was enough to make Nick's head spin. So far he had managed to avoid that end of things, but he knew it wouldn't stay that way for long. As Sergeant he would be called into those endless meetings with Waverly and Wolfie and Jarvis and Matt bloody Ryan, called to the mat to defend his people against the politicians' demands. It was the kind of headache he had always gratefully avoided as a detective, the kind of headache he had always thought would never come calling for him. Times had changed.

As Wolfie continued on with his spiel Nick's eyes flickered towards Jen. She was watching her boss, still and quiet, absorbing everything he said. She'd always had a quick mind for facts and figures; when they'd first joined up with SIS Jen had Trish and Wesley's entire biographies memorized by day one. It was Nick who forgot their anniversary, and where he went to uni, and a dozen other tiny details, but she always covered for him, always smiled and came up with some witty quip that made everybody laugh, that made Nick feel almost as if he were her husband, after all, as if she'd been teasing him for years about his spotty memory. It seemed like something that had happened in another life, now.

She looked tired, he thought. Of course she was beautiful - she always was - but there were dark circles under her eyes that hadn't been there, the last time he'd seen her, and she was clutching her coffee as if it were a lifeline. Today was Saturday; had she been rostered off for the day, as Nick has been? Had she been out late the night before, gone out with some friend or some man he didn't know, enjoyed herself only to be caught up in an investigation whose size and scope demanded only the best detectives, and so demanded her? Or was it something else; was she not sleeping, these days? Did some worry keep her up, keep her from finding peace?

 _It was an early wake-up call, that's all,_ he told himself. She wasn't losing any sleep over him; she'd have called him by now if she was. She hadn't called at all, and he knew that in her silence she had given him her answer. Jen had found a way to carry on without him, and Nick knew it was time for him to do the same.

 _I'll text Juliet when the briefing is over,_ he thought. _I'll see her again when this case is done._

"Obviously, we have a lot of ground to cover," Wolfie was saying. "We need to go to the victims' offices, we need to have a look at their computers, we need to talk to the spouses, and we need statements from the Deputy Mayor and the other councillors. Uniforms are taking those statements. Both Serious Crime and Homicide need to be up to date on each new development as it happens. I want us to split into pairs, mixed doubles. One person from Homicide, one person from Serious Crime. Unless you have any objections, Sergeant Buchanan?"

"None, Sarge," Nick answered. It was a good plan, would help keep everyone in the loop without stepping on any toes, and Nick approved.

"Right," Wolfie said. "Here we go. Freeman, Conner, Levitt, Brooks, Kingston, and Howard, I want you all to go straight to the town hall, with forensics and a team of uniforms. Freeman and Conner, you'll take the Lord Mayor's office. Levitt and Brooks, you take Councillor Stone's office. Kingston and Howard, you're on Johnston's office. We want computers, and a thorough sweep, look for anything that seems threatening or out of place. Peters and Carter -" _Carter_ , that must have been the new bloke they'd brought up to join Homicide - "you're on financials and phone records. Go through everything for all three victims, we'll get you some help as soon as we can. Burrows, you're with Sergeant Ryan. Councillor Stone's wife is on her way here now, you'll speak to her and then see if we can turn up anything on Councillor Johnston's husband's whereabouts. Mrs. Shanahan is also on her way here now, and Sergeant Waverly and I will speak to her."

Dread began to build in Nick's heart as Wolfie rattled off the assignments. Almost everyone was accounted for, now. Everyone but himself, and Jen.

"Sergeant Buchanan, you and Detective Mapplethorpe always worked well together in the past. I need you to start making the rounds with our other politicians, beginning with the Deputy Mayor. Uniforms are taking statements from all of them but we need you to round them up, and see if there are any inconsistencies in their stories. We'll get you some help as soon as we can, we're working on bringing in other detectives now. Everyone understand their orders?"

There came a general murmur of assent from around the room, but Nick barely heard it. He was looking at Jen.

 _You and Detective Mapplethorpe always worked well together in the past._ That was true enough; they'd been a great team, once. Finished each other's sentences, moved as one, hardly needing to speak to communicate their thoughts, always on the same page. As far as anyone knew that was all they'd ever been; a good team. No doubt Wolfie thought he'd done Nick a favor, pairing him up with the one person on the crew he'd always preferred to work with in the past. Nick couldn't blame him for throwing this grenade into his lap. It wasn't Wolfie's fault that Jen had broken his heart, that she refused to look at him now, that the thought of riding alone in car with her left him full of grief. He'd have to find some way through, some way to speak to her without her seeing how much he missed her, how badly he wanted her, still, how even falling into bed with another woman had not been enough to make him forget how much he loved her.

 _The case has to come first,_ he told himself.


	7. Chapter 7

Joanne Conner had liked her Sergeant from the moment she first met him. He was steady, and calm, and not prone to fits of ego or micromanaging. He'd been in Homicide first, spent some time in Vice, gone back to Homicide, and then spent a few months with a different team in Serious Crime before he sat the Sergeant's exam and received his first command. It had been a worry, when he'd first been assigned to the team, that his lack of experience in Serious Crime would prove a disaster, but the Sarge had laid all those worries to rest. He was a damn fine copper, and he trusted his team. He gave them their heads, more often than not, but he brooked no nonsense, and they all wanted, in their own way, to make him proud, to prove themselves worthy of that trust, and not disappoint him. The Sarge was kind, and Jo had never heard him raise his voice, and she had never been so happy with a commanding officer as she was with him.

Working with his old crew would be something of a novelty, she thought. Jo and Mike and Luke and the rest, they were a _team,_ went out for drinks after work and went over to Danny's for a barbecue at his kid's birthday, teased one another, _knew_ one another. But they knew almost nothing about the Sarge personally, about his history, about other people's experiences with him. They didn't know if he had a family, or a girlfriend - though Jo rather doubted it, given the lack of photographs in his office and the long hours he worked - didn't know any of the stories his old mates would recall so fondly. He commanded them from a distance, and that was as it should be, but she rather that seeing him with people he knew, people who had been his friends, would show her more about him than she'd ever seen before, and she was looking forward to it, in a way. Curiosity was the one trait that every detective shared in common, that desire to ask questions, to find the answers, to complete the puzzle, and the Sarge was a puzzle in his own way. What sort of man he was, outside of work, how he spent his precious free time, what sort of pursuits interested him, those were things his old team would know, and Jo wanted to learn those things for herself, and in so doing hopefully bring her own crew even closer together.

The Homicide Sergeant, Wolfe, he'd given them all their marching orders. Jo had been paired with Duncan Freeman, a charming man with an easy smile she liked rather more than she wanted to admit. Freeman had asked her to wait for him by the desks, slipped off to the loo for a moment, and so Jo made her way toward the Homicide breakroom, carrying a thermos she fully intended to fill with shitty coffee, to shore up her flagging reserves as they barreled through the day. As she made her way across the Homicide floor, though, she caught sight of her own Sarge, heading in the same direction, and picked up the pace. It would be nice, she thought, to get a chance to speak with him before they all scattered to the winds. The Sarge had been given his own orders, had been paired up with the detective called Mapplethorpe, though Jo hadn't quite yet figured out which one he was. _You and Detective Mapplethorpe always worked well together in the past,_ Wolfe had said, and that had piqued Jo's interest. Were they friends, then, the Sarge and Mapplethorpe? Was Mapplethorpe the brooding Sergeant with the floppy hair, Nick Buchanan's equal, a mate from the old days? Or was he the young kid with the dark hair and the eager eyes; was Wolfe being sarcastic, when he made that comment, had he saddled Sergeant Buchanan with a younger detective because someone had to keep an eye on the kid, and Wolfe trusted the Sarge to do it? It was unusual, Jo thought, that Wolfe had tasked the Sarge with field work, while the rest of the brass were given loftier roles. Was it a punishment of sorts, for the Sarge's choice to leave Homicide, or a reflection of Wolfe's trust in the man? Jo was eager to find out.

She swayed to a stop just outside the breakroom, for as she drew near she saw that the Sarge was not alone. A blonde woman was already inside; Jo recognized her from the briefing. The woman was pretty, slightly built with a delicate sort of face, and Jo's gaze had lingered on her, the way it always did when she crossed paths with a beautiful woman. The Sarge seemed quite taken with the blonde, too; he lingered in the doorway for a moment, before he sighed, and spoke, and all the while Jo held her breath, wondering what might happen next.

"Jen," the Sarge said, and the blonde woman turned, bright eyes fixing on him at once. She really did have beautiful eyes, Jo thought, the kind of eyes that made a person stop and take a second look.

"Just getting some coffee for the road," Jen said, somewhat tightly. From her vantage point in the corridor Jo could not see her Sergeant's face, but she saw the way his shoulders sagged, and listened as hard as she could. Something was happening here, she thought, something she did not quite understand, and she did not want to miss a second of it.

"I didn't ask for this, Jen," the Sarge said. "I didn't know what Wolfie had planned."

Jen frowned. "I can trade shifts with Duncan, if you'd rather not work with me."

So she was _Mapplethorpe,_ Jo realized; it was this woman the Sarge had been paired with, and not one of the other fellas from the briefing. The woman's voice was soft, when she spoke, only barely loud enough for Jo to hear, and her tone dripped with something - sadness? Disappointment? Jo couldn't tell.

"That's not what I said."

The Sarge's voice was quiet, too, his tone as heavy as Jen's had been, and Jo realized then that she had stumbled across something altogether unexpected. Perhaps they had worked well together in the past, Jen and the Sarge, just as Wolfe had said, but they seemed pained, now, at having been forced into one another's proximity. As if something had happened between them, in the past, something that would make it difficult for them to be partnered once more. Something that might explain why the Sarge had left behind a prime posting in Homicide to start over somewhere else, with people who knew nothing at all about him.

"I just didn't want you to think I made this happen, Jen. I was as surprised as you."

"I know," she said.

How did she know? Jo wondered. Had she seen the Sarge's face, when the pairs were announced, had some glimmer of surprise or dismay shown there, recognizable only to this Jen, and not to the officers who worked with him every day, and yet knew him so little?

"We can work together, can't we, Nick?" Jen added. _Nick,_ she'd called him, not _Sarge,_ the way Jo and her team were forced to do. He wasn't _the Sarge,_ not where Jen was concerned, wasn't some distant figure of authority, but a teammate, an equal, a friend, perhaps, once.

" 'Course we can," he answered. "It's the job. We've always done the job."

"Yeah," Jen said.

Silence fell over them both, as Jen filled her mug, and the Sarge watched her from the doorway. Was that all they meant to say to one another? Jo wondered. Should she enter the room now, make her presence known, introduce herself to Jen and put a stop to whatever was happening between them, or should she wait, and hope that more might be revealed? It was rather unprofessional, she knew, to be loitering about listening to the private conversation of her commanding officer, but she was intrigued. The heavy expression on Jen's pretty face, the set of the Sarge's shoulders, the charged electricity of the silence between them now, spoke of deeper, more troubling matters than a copper being assigned to work with his old partner once again. As far as Jo knew the Sarge had no personal life to speak of, but she was beginning to suspect that things were rather more complicated than she'd initially realized.

"How've you been, Jen?" the Sarge asked then, his voice low, soft, full of concern, but hesitant, too, as if he knew he ought to ask and yet feared the answer.

For her part Jen didn't answer him immediately; she finished pouring a bit of milk into her coffee, and then screwed the lid on her travel mug. She turned to the refrigerator and placed the milk inside, and then closed it back, her hand lingering on the door, the seconds passing as still she did not speak. It was an innocuous sort of question, Jo thought, a question that was asked and answered a hundred times a day, but Jen had responded as if it were a far more intimate inquiry, and therefore much harder to answer.

"Yeah," she said, finally, turning around to face the Sarge once more. "All right. You?"

Just as she had done he took a moment to answer; from the tilt of his head, the way he leaned in the doorway, it looked to Jo like he was looking at Jen, but she couldn't see the expression on his face, couldn't discern whether he was staring at her unblinking, or if he was in reality gazing steadily at his own shoes.

"Yeah," he said. "All right."

That was it. No more information was forthcoming from either of them, just silence stretched long and thick between them. Jen lifted her mug to her lips, took a long sip, and then sighed.

"Ready to go?" she asked.

"Yeah," the Sarge answered.

In a moment Jen was crossing the room, and he stepped aside as she reached the doorway, giving her room to pass by him unimpeded, but she did not breeze straight past him. She stopped, for a moment, next to him, and his head swayed towards her, close but not yet touching. From her vantage point a few feet away Jo could almost swear she saw Jen's eyes fluttered closed at their proximity. They stood together, hardly breathing; the Sarge's hand lifted, as if he meant to place it on the small of her back, but then it fell away, and Jen never saw a thing. Jo did, though.

"It's good to see you, Jen," the Sarge said then.

Her eyes opened again, her expression pained. "Yeah," she said, and then she took a deep breath. "I'll drive."

Her words seemed to have shaken him from whatever momentary paralysis he'd been suffering; he gave his head a little shake, straightened up and stepped away.

"Fine by me," he said.

They began to move, then, and Jo did, too, trying to make her movements look natural, to give no evidence of the fact that she'd just witnessed their interaction, or of the conclusions she'd drawn from it.

"Sarge," she said when he caught sight of her.

"All right, Jo?" he asked. Jen was standing a few feet away from him now, but she stopped when she heard their voices, watched Jo's approach with interest. Not, unfortunately, the kind of interest Jo would have liked to have seen from her; given what had just happened, Jo was fairly certain that Jen's romantic inclinations favored the Sarge, and not herself.

"Yeah," she said. "I was just going to get some coffee before -"

"Oi, Conner!" a jovial voice called out from behind her. "Ready to go?"

It was Freeman, the detective she'd been paired with for the investigation. He came striding up, all smiles as he caught sight of Jen and the Sarge standing together. For a moment Jo felt just the slightest bit of regret, for Jen had offered to swap roles with Freeman, and while Jen had looked a little relieved when the Sarge declined her offer Jo knew that as charming as he might have been she would have much preferred spending the day with Jen, rather than Duncan Freeman.

"Looking good, Sarge," he said, holding his hand out, and the Sarge took it, and they shook, friendly with one another, without one single ounce of the tension that had colored his interaction with Jen. For her part Jen was no longer stony-faced; she seemed relaxed, no trace of her earlier distress in her expression. Maybe, Jo thought, she'd had some practice at hiding her true emotions, where the Sarge was concerned.

"You still walking around in a suit that costs more than my house, Dunny?" the Sarge asked him, friendly and easy. Behind them, Jen laughed.

"That says more about your house than my suit, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, I suppose it does," the Sarge allowed good-naturedly. "We've got to get going," he added, gesturing vaguely towards Jen. "Catch up later, yeah?"

"The dream team, back together again," Duncan said expansively, looking at them both. "Yeah, catch up later. Your shout, Sarge."

The Sarge actually smiled, then, which struck Jo as rather odd, for she could not recall having ever seen him smile before. Not that he was an unhappy man, he just never let his feelings show so plainly on his face. Seeing him now, with his old friends, in an entirely new element, was rather like seeing him for the very first time.

"Yeah, my shout," he said, and then he was walking away. Jen fell into step with him as he passed, and Jo watched them go, the Sarge tall and broad, Jen slight and graceful beside him. There were other, more pressing mysteries for her to unravel at present, and she tried to put thoughts of the Sarge's personal dilemma out of her mind. Murder came first; she'd worry about the rest of it later.


	8. Chapter 8

Nick didn't object to her suggestion that she be the one to drive; he never did. The other boys tended to assume they would be the ones sliding behind the wheel, but not Nick. He was never the type to go in for petty squabbling, pointless flights of ego and displays of machismo. He took everything in stride, and Jen had always loved that about him, loved how calm he was, how steady, how well he knew himself and how easy he was with other people. There was a strength in him that would not be challenged by trivialities. She was doubly grateful for that just now, the way he'd quietly let her do as she pleased, for it allowed her the chance to occupy her chaotic thoughts with the task of driving, gave her a chance to put some distance between herself and her emotions.

Some, but not enough, not nearly enough, because Nick was sitting right beside her. There had been a moment, in the breakroom, when she'd stood closer to him than she had for half a year, and the warmth of him, the solid, unwavering presence of his body beside her had nearly left her weak in the knees with the longing to fall against him, to wrap her arms around him and hold him close. She _wanted_ that, wanted him to hold her, wanted to feel, just for a moment, as if she were safe, as if everything was going to be all right again, as if there were a chance, however small, that she had not completely ruined any hope for happiness between them.

She'd worried about ruining _them_ , before. Looked at him, sometimes, while he was standing on a ladder painting the molding in his sitting room or while he stood at the foot of the bed calmly folding their laundry, and wondered when he'd realize she wasn't what he wanted, after all. The time must surely come, she'd thought back then, when he'd see she wasn't the one for him. He was too bloody _good,_ and she wanted him too badly, and outside the professional sphere any time Jen had ever truly _wanted_ anything it had all turned to ashes in her hands. No boyfriend ever stuck around for more than a few months - though she had ended most of those relationships herself - and friends came and went. Outside of work her life was small; Duncan was probably her best friend in the whole world - _that_ had been a grim realization - and she only saw her mum at Christmas. Work was the only thing that made sense, the only constant in her life; she'd started as a copper straight out of uni, always knowing she wanted to make it to Homicide one day. And she had, and that achievement had been the most important thing in her life, until Nick came waltzing back. Until Nick gave her a glimpse of something else, something she had never dreamed of.

She didn't know how to do it, be _with_ someone like that, all the time, forever. Didn't know how to build a relationship that would last, how to make a connection that wouldn't eventually fray with time. As it became harder to balance work and Nick, harder to keep her secrets, harder to lie, it became clear to her she'd have to choose. Have to choose between the one commitment she'd ever managed to sustain and the vast uncertainty of _Nick._

 _What if we do all that and in two years' time we split up?_ She'd asked him that day in the car. This car, she realized glumly, the same car she was driving now. That terrible day he'd been sitting there beside her, just as he was now, and she'd asked him the one question she couldn't find an answer for herself. _What happens when you don't love me any more, and I don't even have the job to turn to? What will be left of me, when this ends?_ Oh, he'd been confident, sure in his answer, had looked at her as if he knew in his heart he'd never go off her, but Jen didn't share his certainty. Why should she believe he'd never leave, when everyone else did?

And he'd proved the right of it, whether he knew it or not. Jen couldn't stomach the thought of going to bed with someone else, hadn't even considered trying to date in the time they'd spent apart and run from the longing she'd seen in Matt Ryan's eyes, but Nick had found someone else, already. Nick had moved on, with a pretty, dark haired girl - well, Jen assumed the girl was pretty, but she'd not been able to see her face in the dark the night before. For once Jen had given in to hope, when she'd rushed out of the bar and into the taxi, barreled through the night towards Nick's house, and all she got for her trouble was the dawning realization that he didn't want her, any more.

"New kid settling in ok?" Nick asked her softly, and the sound of his voice startled her so severely she nearly veered out of her lane. She hadn't expected him to speak, and she certainly hadn't expected him to ask such an innocuous question in that low, gravelly tone of voice he had always reserved just for her, just for them, when they were alone and no one was around and they could share freely of themselves.

"Yeah, he's all right," she said, her eyes fixed firmly on the road. "Lost his lunch the first time he saw a crime scene, but he's coming along." Adam had joined the team after Nick left, and though he was a perfectly nice man every time she looked at him Jen had felt the pang of Nick's loss, knowing that no one could ever fill the hole he'd left behind, professionally or otherwise.

Nick laughed, a little, once, but then the silence returned, and she found herself wishing he'd never spoken at all, wishing he'd let her try to forget, just for a second, how terrible it was, to be so close to him, and know she never would be again.

* * *

"We were all green once," Nick said.

He wasn't usually the sort to fill a silence. In his experience he found out more about a person listening than talking; some tightly wound suspect would babble himself into a corner, when met with silence, and a friend might confess their true thoughts, if he wasn't filling every breath with his own. How a person responded to silence said a lot about them, too; Matt Ryan could never stand it, and always had to say _something,_ and Jen had always been comfortable with it, not needing constant reassurance of his interest. Just now, though, in this car with her - _again,_ and what he wouldn't give to forget the conversation they'd had the last time they were in this car together - he knew he had to speak. They had to find some way forward, some way to work together, would have to open the lines of communication between them, and Jen had been tight-lipped and stony-faced from the moment they drove away from the station. That wouldn't do; by the time they got to the crime scene they'd need to be a team again, and so he spoke, tried to tease some conversation out of her, tried to put aside his own aching heart and focus on the problem at hand.

He'd nearly touched her, in the breakroom, when she'd stood beside him. For that single instant, that breath between one heartbeat and the next, she'd let herself stop, lingered in his orbit the way she used to do. The scent of her coffee had been stronger than her perfume but he could pick it out just the same, the light, haunting fragrance she wore so sparingly. He'd come to recognize it, before, come to relish walking up behind her and nuzzling his face against her neck, that familiar scent he couldn't quite define reminding him that he was _home_ , with her. She'd bought a smaller bottle of the stuff to keep at his, for the nights she slept over, and it still lived in the little cabinet beneath his sink, as if one day she might come back to claim it.

Only he didn't think she would, now. He'd nearly touched her, but he hadn't quite managed to find the strength to connect, to force them both to face what had happened between them when there was a case they needed to solve first. He'd let his hand drop, and she'd stepped away, offered to drive and shattered their momentary union, removed herself and the soft scent of _home_ from his vicinity quickly, neatly. It was Jen who'd offered to switch partners, Jen who wasn't talking to him now, Jen who had seemed perfectly happy to carry on without him.

"Yeah," Jen said, still not looking at him. _Yeah,_ they'd all had to start somewhere. Nick hadn't thrown up at his first crime scene, but he knew plenty of coppers who had. Rhys had lost it, the day they walked into the Supomo house. _Christ,_ it felt to him as if a lifetime had passed since that day. So much had happened, and so much had changed.

The scene that day had been grim, but he and Jen had kept their cool. They'd kept their thoughts to themselves, and retreated to his car as quickly as they could, to hash things out between them. By that point they weren't green any more; they'd served their time with SIS and with Homicide both, and seen enough of horror to no longer be undone by it.

But they'd been green, once. Quite suddenly he found himself remembering the very first time he'd ever met her, at a seedy hotel on the edge of the city. She'd been sitting on the end of a bed in a cramped little room, a stack of files beside her. Barely thirty, barefoot, dressed in blue jeans and a simple top, she'd been so bloody beautiful he'd had to catch himself, had to remember they had a job to do. Jen had risen to her feet and shaken his hand, all business, and he'd grinned, thinking whatever came next couldn't be that bad, if he had her beside him. It _had_ been bad, of course; a year undercover, lying through his teeth to everyone but Jen, constantly waiting for someone to catch him out, rubbing shoulders with gun runners and thugs and worse. But she'd been there with him, through it all, and when it was done he still thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in real life.

 _It's in the past,_ he told himself grimly. Those nights lying beside her, in the Claybourne's bed, in his bed, in hers, they were all behind him now. Jen wasn't young and eager to prove herself, any more, wasn't reciting dates and names and places to herself over her breakfast to keep their legend sharp, wasn't reaching for his hand when nerves threatened to undo her. It was nearly six years now, since that day in the hotel, and they weren't the same people, any more.

She smelled the same, though. At this close range he could almost catch that scent, something light, vaguely floral, something that tugged at his memory but which he could not name. Something that was _Jen._ Whatever perfume Juliet wore had been different, muskier, heavier than what Jen preferred. It was nice enough, but it wasn't the same.

"How do you want to do this, Jen?" he asked her.

They were stopped at a light and she turned to look at him sharply, and he grimaced.

"The interviews," he explained.

"Right," she said, sounding a little relieved to know that he wasn't talking about their personal disaster but the job at hand. "I say we go to the uniforms first. Look over their notes, see what their take on the situation is. Then we can sit down with the Deputy Mayor and see what he has to say for himself."

It was exactly the answer Nick would have given, and he nodded, even though she wasn't looking at him any more.

"Ease into it, yeah?" he said.

"Yeah," she answered. "I don't want to spook him, and I don't want to make any assumptions just yet. Whatever this is, it's big."

 _Bigger than you and me,_ Nick thought, though he kept those words to himself. They had three dead bodies and no leads as yet, and the danger of the hour had to take precedence over his own wounded heart.


	9. Chapter 9

Jen's heart sank as they drew near the Deputy Mayor's home; the uniformed officers who had been assigned to keep watch over him and his family were not the only people milling about.

"Journos," she said, speaking the word in the same tone most people reserved for _hemorrhoids._

Beside her Nick barked out a laugh. "Bloody vultures," he said.

She grinned once, easy, catching a glimpse of their former camaraderie and clinging to it. Maybe he didn't love her anymore, but maybe there was a chance for them to be friends, after all. It wasn't enough, but it was more than nothing.

They stepped from the car together, parked there in front of the deputy mayor's home; there were perhaps a half a dozen journos currently being held at bay by two haggard-looking uniforms. No cameras, yet, but it was early in the day, and Jen wasn't sure how much information had found its way to the press, whether they were only here because the Lord Mayor had been murdered, or if they knew of the two dead councilors as well. She wasn't about to ask; the best way to deal with the press, in her experience, was silence. They made a great deal of noise and would pester subjects into lashing out, would do anything in search of a story, but a brick wall would not make for good copy, and if she held her tongue she knew eventually they'd grow bored, and move on to more interesting subjects.

Jen kept her head down, walking beside Nick, trying to pay the journos no mind, trying to gather her thoughts in advance of their interview with the Deputy Mayor, but they were still ten yards from the front door when a voice called out suddenly from behind them.

"Detective Buchanan!"

As one Nick and Jen turned, and found one of the journalists, a young woman with dark hair and a gentle face, waving at him.

"Christ," Nick groaned.

"Friend of yours?" Jen asked, grinning. He looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up, and she relished the opportunity to tease him, like she used to do, before. But Nick didn't smile, or shrug, or laugh it off; instead he just looked miserable, and her momentary good cheer faded.

"Something like that," he said softly. "Wait here, would you? Let me deal with this."

"All right," she answered slowly, but he was already walking away. Jen stood alone, islanded in the middle of the pavement, crossed her arms over her chest and watched Nick approaching the gaggle of reporters. The woman who'd called his name was smiling, and she stepped away from her cohort, met him on the edge of the grass. One of the uniforms reached out to stop her but Nick waved him off; they were too far away for Jen to hear what he'd said, but it seemed he'd decided to handle this one for himself. Curious, then, Jen stayed right where she was, watching the scene unfold.

* * *

"Juliet," Nick said softly, warningly. This was the last thing he'd expected, and his skin was crawling, knowing that Jen was just _there,_ watching, knowing that Juliet was smiling at him like she'd just shagged him the night before and couldn't wait to do it again. It was a cruel turn of fate, he thought, that he should be caught in this moment, torn between the woman he could have and the woman he wanted. If Jen found out... _Christ,_ he didn't want to consider what might happen, should Jen learn of his connection to Juliet. Maybe she wouldn't care, maybe it wouldn't matter to her, now that she'd spent half a year without him and moved on with her life, but if that was the case Nick didn't want to know, didn't want to learn for himself that Jen was well and truly shot of him, that he had no hope of ever holding her again.

Juliet hadn't called him by his given name, and for that he was grateful, but seeing her here just reminded him why sleeping with a journo was a bad idea. The job required a certain degree of discretion from him, and _her_ job revolved around getting people to reveal their secrets. She would never stop pushing; it wasn't in her nature to let an interesting lead pass her by. He couldn't tell her anything, and he wished like hell she hadn't turned up here, but he did not want to be cruel to her, either; she didn't know, had no way to know the turmoil she'd unleashed in his heart, and she deserved better from him than to be treated coldly less than twelve hours after she'd left his bed.

"Good morning to you, too," she said, utterly unphased by his disapproval. "Care to comment on the death of the Lord Mayor, Detective Buchanan?"

"No," he said, a bit more sharply than he'd intended. "You know the rules, Juliet. I can't comment on an active case."

"I suppose you don't have anything to say about the deaths of Mark Stone and Carole Johnston, either?"

"How did you find out about that?"

He shouldn't have asked; _no comment,_ that was all he was supposed to say, but he was frustrated, and confused, and tired, and he just wanted to get back to Jen, to the easy comfort of talking to a woman who knew him, and with whom he did not have to guard his tongue.

"I have my ways," she said mysteriously, her eyes sparkling, and if it weren't for the knowledge that Jen was standing just behind him, watching him, he might have been charmed. Juliet really was a pretty girl, and she could be clever, in her own way. As it was, however, Nick was too out of sorts to be taken in by her, and her flippant comment set his thoughts to churning.

"The phone call last night," Nick said slowly, as the realization began to dawn.

Juliet just hummed, still grinning.

A source must have rung her, while she was lying beside him, someone who knew something about the murders. But she'd been called away around midnight, and the Lord Mayor hadn't been murdered until 4:00 a.m. If someone had called Juliet to discuss the murders, it must have happened _before_ the crimes had been committed and the implications of that left Nick's head reeling.

"If you know something," he said, his voice so gravely serious that it melted the smile clean off her face, "you have to tell us. If someone warned you-"

"I can't reveal my sources, Nick."

"Whoever called you knew these murders were going to happen. If you knew something was in the works, and you didn't report it, you're an accessory to murder, Juliet. I could arrest you right now."

Her face paled; the big stories weren't her specialty, he knew, and he realized then that she was completely out of her depth. Juliet did human interest pieces, she had no experience with politics and murder.

"All right," she said quickly. "My source didn't say anything about murder. He just said that there was going to be a shakeup in the government, and that someone should look into the Deputy Mayor's financial dealings. That's why I came here, I wanted to try to talk to him, but the cops were already here. That's how I found out about the murders."

Nick wanted, very much, to believe she was telling the truth. His gut told him she was a nice girl, that she was sincere, and he didn't want to find out that the truth was otherwise.

"You have to give a statement," he told her. "I can't be the one to take it. We have to do this by the book. Go to Homicide, ask for Sergeant Wolfe. Tell him I sent you, and tell him everything you know. That's the only way for you to get clear of this, Juliet."

"I can't talk to the cops-"

"The man who called you last night knew that three people were going to be murdered and did nothing to stop it. He might even be the one behind it all. I don't want to scare you, but there's every possibility you're in danger."

As he spoke her eyes went wide with fear, and Nick's heart constricted at the sight of it. She didn't deserve this, he thought, to be tangled up in a plot she didn't understand. She didn't deserve to be caught in the middle of a murder investigation, and she didn't deserve a man who couldn't return her affections. Maybe Nick didn't love her, maybe he didn't care for her as much as she deserved, but he would protect her. She deserved that much.

"Sergeant Wolfe?" she said, and Nick knew that she had heard him, that she intended to do as he'd said, and he relaxed infinitesimally.

"Yeah," he said, offering her a small, reassuring smile. "He's a good man, he'll make sure you're looked after. "You should go now. I've got to get back to work."

Nick started to walk away, but Juliet reached out and rested her hand against his forearm, her eyes fixed on his face.

"You'll be careful, won't you, Nick?" she asked him then. "Three people are dead already, and now you think I might be in danger, but you're the one investigating and I...I'm worried about you."

"I'll be all right," he answered, touched by her obvious concern for him. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, he thought, starting over with Juliet. Maybe a nice girl was just what he needed.

* * *

There was a sinking feeling in Jen's stomach, as she watched Nick talking to the journo. He had his back towards her and so she could not see his face, but she could see the woman smiling at him, could see the warmth in her expression, the way her eyes lingered on him. That smile faded; no doubt Nick had said something to put an end to her hopes of a good quote for her story, but somehow Jen didn't think that's all it was. There was something focused, familiar, comfortable about the way they were with each other, and when Nick turned to walk away the woman reached out, and touched him.

It was then that Jen realized the awful truth. She'd seen this woman before; oh, it had been dark, and Jen hadn't been able to make out the face of the woman who'd kissed Nick on his doorstep the night before, but she recognized her, just the same. The journo was the right height, and she had the same long, dark hair, and she was _touching_ Nick. She'd called out to him, and he'd come to her at once, had asked Jen to stay behind so he could speak to the journo in private. It must have been _her,_ and now that Jen knew what she was seeing she could not look away.

The woman was pretty, and young. She had a soft face, a sweet face; Nick deserved someone sweet, Jen thought, someone as kind, as _good_ as he was himself. When she touched his arm he lingered with her, and covered her hand with his own, offering her comfort, and the taste of bile rose in the back of Jen's throat. After he walked back into her life she had shared everything with Nick; there had been no secrets between them, nothing about his life she did not know. That had changed, now; she did not know the story of how he'd met this woman, how she'd come to be in his life, how he'd fallen for her - and he must have done, Jen thought, if he'd let her into his home, if he kissed her softly on his doorstep in the middle of the night, for Nick had never been the kind of man who did anything casually. He didn't go looking for one night stands, like Simon, wouldn't sleep with the first woman who came along just because she was there. If Nick had taken her to bed, he must have cared for her, and that knowledge settled sharp as a knife in Jen's gut.

She'd lost him, she could see that now. Someone else had taken her place, and she knew there was no going back.


	10. Chapter 10

"Everything all right?" Jen asked him softly as he came to stand beside her once more on the pavement. The woman - _his_ woman, the journo - had taken off in the opposite direction once their brief conversation was done, had beaten a path across the grass towards a small dark car and slid behind the wheel at once. Whatever Nick had said to her it seemed to have given her cause to leave, and that was a curious thing, Jen thought. It couldn't be that Nick had given her a lead of some sort; no matter how much he might have cared for her Jen knew he'd never divulge information about an active case, not in the broad light of day when their investigation was only just beginning. Nick cared too much about his work, and they'd talked about the scourge of the journos often enough for Jen to know he wasn't the sort of man who'd let a pretty face get in the way of doing his job.

 _You didn't think he was the ambitious sort, either, but he's a Sergeant now,_ she thought as she looked at him. _Things change._

Nick's expression was grim, exhaustion showing in the lines of his face, but his eyes were warm and soft when he looked at her, the way they always were.

"Nothing to worry about," he told her in that serious, steady voice she loved so well. "I'll explain later."

It wasn't a brush off, exactly, but Jen knew she'd get no further information from him now, and so she did not press him, simply turned and marched off toward the house, Nick falling into step beside her. Did he really mean to explain it all to her? She wondered as they went. Did he really intend to tell her the truth about this journo, to tell her that he was sleeping with this woman, to tell her the real reason - professional or otherwise - the journo had called him over? Surely he must know how such a thing would wound her. Surely he knew, she thought, that Jen had loved him, had taken so many risks for his sake, had only turned away from him out of fear, and not lack of regard for him. He must know, she thought; mustn't he? Or did he think she really didn't love him, not as deeply as he loved her, did he think she preferred things this way?

 _We have to talk,_ she realized glumly. Not now, not this minute, not in the middle of an investigation, but there was so much she still needed to say to him, so many questions still unanswered. It had never been their way, before, to keep secrets from one another. Most of the time she'd known just what he was thinking, could almost hear his voice echoing in her mind when she looked at him, but on those rare occasions when she was not sure they always talked. They talked about everything, in their own quiet way.

 _You didn't talk about the end, though_ , she thought miserably. When fear had sunk its teeth into her she'd kept her thoughts to herself and pulled away from him, and now she knew just how badly things could go wrong when they were not open with each other. It might hurt in the moment, might be the hardest conversation they'd ever had, but she knew she could not let him slip away without talking to him, one last time, about everything.

_Not just now, though._

It couldn't be now, because now they were walking into the Deputy Mayor's home, and the man himself was sitting on the sofa, pale-faced and quiet, and Nick had hailed one of the uniforms, gestured for the lad to join them so they could begin their interview. They had to work, now. The rest could wait.

* * *

The Deputy Mayor had been, as Nick suspected, slippery and hard to pin down. He had an alibi - his wife confirmed he'd been home all night - and he looked too soft, Nick thought, to kill even one person in cold blood, let alone three. A soft man might still be able to order a hit, but Nick just couldn't see it; the position of Lord Mayor was not sufficient enticement, he thought, to justify three murders. There was the matter of the tip Juliet had given him - however unknowingly - and he thought perhaps investigating the Deputy Mayor's financials might prove a more successful avenue of investigation. He'd call it in once they were in the car, he thought, let Wolfie know and have the team still in the station run it down.

If he were going to pass this information along to Wolfie, though, he'd have to tell him everything. While Jen sat beside him, listening to every word he said.

Jen had been wonderful, in the interview. It was like old times, facing down a suspect with her, each of them picking up seamlessly where the other left off, knowing without need of strategizing how best to approach the matter at hand. She was calm, and professional, and so bloody beautiful, and he couldn't help but think of how it used to be, before. How they'd shared everything, how relaxed he used to feel, knowing she was with him, knowing everything would be all right, so long as they were a team. It used to be fun, working with Jen; he'd tease her, make her smile, pour her tea and listen to her, and she'd comfort him, support him, back him up, whatever the play. Being Sergeant afforded him no such luxury, and stepping out into the field with Jen only served to remind him just how much he missed it.

Only he was about to cock it all up, now, because he had to talk to Wolfie, and then... _Christ,_ then he'd have to talk to Jen.

"Where to next?" she asked as she slid behind the wheel, as Nick dropped into the seat beside her. They had a list of councillors to visit, but he knew he had to make his call before they could move on to the next house.

"Hang on," he said. "I gotta ring Wolfie. Let's wait and see what he has to say."

"All right."

She was watching him curiously, but there was no soft grin tugging at the corners of her mouth; she just looked worried, he thought, and tired. She'd seen him talking to Juliet; had she connected the dots already? He wondered. It didn't really matter, he supposed, the truth would come out soon enough.

He pulled out his phone, and dialed the old familiar number.

"Sergeant Wolfe," came a reassuring voice on the other end of the line.

"Yeah, Sarge, it's Nick," he said.

"Sergeant Buchanan," Wolfie said then. "I've just been having an interesting chat with Juliet Gardner."

So she had done as he'd asked, then, and gone straight to Wolfie. That was for the best, Nick thought. Wolfie would know what to do. Wolfie would keep her safe.

"Yeah, Sarge, that's why I'm calling. Did she tell you what her source said?"

He could feel Jen's eyes on him, could almost hear the questions she longed to ask but wouldn't dare give voice to, not now when he was still talking to Wolfie and she could only hear half the conversation.

"Not in so many words, no."

Nick frowned. Though he was not particularly concerned with the matter of journalistic integrity he didn't appreciate being forced into this position, having to choose between his job and Juliet's trust in him. The job would win - the job always won - but she deserved better, he thought, than to have him divulge her secrets.

"The source told her to look into the Deputy Mayor's financials."

Wolfie hummed. "Anything in particular we ought to look for?"

"Sorry, Sarge, that's all I know."

Wolfie didn't stick around long after that, just assured Nick that he'd put some people on it and bid him a curt farewell, and just like that Nick was, once more, alone with Jen. In a car. In silence.

How was he supposed to begin this conversation? He wanted to tell her everything, wanted to tell her how much he loved her, still, how just the sight of her made his heart break afresh, how he'd gone out for drinks with a pretty woman in the hopes of forgetting her, how all it had done was remind him that no one else would ever take her place. He wanted to tell her about Juliet's perfume, and how he didn't like it as much as hers, wanted to tell her that Juliet's hands felt wrong, when she touched him, wanted to tell her that the only thing he wanted was _Jen._ But he couldn't, he knew he couldn't; they were in the middle of an investigation, and they were already falling behind schedule, and Jen had ended it, anyway. What good would it do, he wondered, to tell her such things now when she'd already decided she was better off without him? He'd only end up hurting himself, and ruining the good rapport they'd only just begun to build between them.

"Something you want to tell me, Nick?" Jen asked him quietly.

She wasn't looking at him, any more, and he hated it, hated everything about this moment, her soft voice, her eyes focused anywhere but on him, the distance that had sprung up between them just as things had started to go right for a change.

"The journo," he said shortly. "Juliet Gardner. A source called her last night and told her there was going to be trouble. He told her to look into the Deputy Mayor's financials. But this was before the murders actually happened."

Jen did look at him, then, turned her head sharply, her eyes studying his face.

"Did you-"

"I sent her to Wolfie, she's there now."

Jen nodded, hesitated for a moment, and then spoke again. "Did they take her phone?"

"I didn't ask."

He could have kicked himself for that; if they took Juliet's phone they'd have the source's number. They might be able to trace it, or even call it, rattle him a little and see what shook out. Likely Wolfie had thought of that all on his own; Nick hoped he had, because he wasn't about to call back, not until this conversation with Jen was finished.

"She must be a good friend of yours, if she told you what her source said."

There it was; he could see it on Jen's face, now, could see that she knew already the nature of his relationship with Juliet. She _knew_ , when he so very badly wished she didn't, when he longed so desperately to protect her - protect them both - from the fallout of this decision. There was no point in denying it; Jen had seen him with Juliet, and she'd come to the correct conclusion, and he wouldn't lie to her, not for anything, not ever.

"Jen-"

"It's not really my business, is it?" she asked, and her voice was so _sad_ that Nick suddenly found himself questioning everything he'd believed about the state of things between them. If Jen were glad to be shot of him, if she were content in her decision to end things, if she didn't hold any hope or any desire for a second chance with him, surely she wouldn't have been disappointed to learn that Nick was sleeping with someone else. Would she?

Technically he supposed she was right; they'd broken up months before, Nick was working on a different team, their lives no longer intertwined. It shouldn't have been of any interest to her, where he went, what he did - or with whom - but Jen wasn't just anybody. Jen was _Jen,_ the best friend he'd ever had, the only person who felt like home to him, still, after all this time. He could hardly tell her that, though, and she didn't seem to be waiting for an answer in any case. She started up the car, and he leaned back in his seat. In that moment he could almost feel her slipping through his hands, could almost feel his chance at setting things right between them fading into nothingness. His heart screamed at him to speak but no words passed his lips; the words escaped him, and the silence stretched on unbearably until she shattered it at last. 

"Where to next?" Jen asked him.

 _The job comes first._ He took a deep breath, and gave her the address, and they set off to visit the next person on their list, and Nick's heart sank, heavy with words left unsaid.


	11. Chapter 11

_It's not really my business, is it?_

That should have been the end of it, and she knew it. Nick had moved on, he was seeing someone else - was no doubt worried sick about that someone else having got herself caught in the middle of the murder of three prominent local politicians - and they had a job to do, murders to investigate. It wasn't her business what Nick did, or where he went, or who with, not any more. Still, though, she couldn't help thinking about it. Couldn't stop her brain from going over it, again and again, the scene she'd watched play out on Nick's porch the night before, the brief, tense conversation he'd had with the journo at the Deputy Mayor's house, the warmth in his voice when they'd stood together in the breakroom, their cheeks nearly touching, when he'd murmured _it's good to see you, Jen,_ and sounded like he meant it. A rational part of her mind told her he was only being polite, that they were only falling into old habits, but her heart clamored in her chest, cried out for one last chance to speak to him, desperate to find out, once and for all, if it was the journo he really wanted, or if he'd be willing to settle for Jen once more, after everything.

The battle was ongoing inside her, and no relief in sight; they had visited two more city councillors and were on their way to a third, riding silent and tense in the car together, when Nick's mobile rang again.

"Buchanan," he said smoothly, and Jen held her breath, listening to him speak, wondering who'd called him, wondering if it was _her_.

"We'd be grateful for the help," he said, and then, "yeah, we can pull in. We're about twenty minutes out. Yeah, all right Sarge, see you then."

It must have been Wolfie who'd called him; Nick was a Sergeant himself, and the only person he still called _Sarge_ was Wolfie. The brief call ended, and Nick slid his phone back into his pocket.

"They want us back at the station," he told her. "The braid approved reinforcements and they'll send somebody else to interview the other councillors. Wolfie wants to talk about the Deputy Mayor."

"They find anything in his finances yet?" Jen asked, already turning the car towards the station, towards home.

It was early afternoon, and they were both overdue for a bit of lunch and a piss, and so Jen wasn't complaining about the sudden change in plans. But still she thought it might be too early to hope -

"No," Nick said. "They've got some hoops to jump through before we can get a look at them. Apparently the word of a journo and a single unnamed source isn't sufficient grounds."

Jen hummed, to let him know that she'd heard him, and that she understood - and shared - his frustration, but just the mention of the word _journo_ set that pretty girl's face to dancing in Jen's mind again, and she didn't trust herself to speak. There were a million questions she wanted to ask him, how he'd met this girl, how he'd fallen in with her, if he loved her as Jen suspected he must, if he loved her more than Jen, but she bit her tongue. _It won't help you to know,_ she tried to tell herself. _You won't be happier once you hear the truth._

"It isn't…" Nick started to speak but then trailed off, his palms resting flat on his knees and his gaze straight ahead. They rolled to a stop at a light and Jen dared to glance at him once, quickly, and saw that his expression was pained. "It's not like…" he started again, lost his voice again, and Jen's heart began to pound, wondering what on earth he was trying to tell her, wondering if she wanted to hear it at all.

"It was just the one night," he said then, and the racing of her heart sounded loud as a drum in her ears.

"Nick, you don't have to-"

"I want to," he said, softly. "We're working this together, you and me, and she's in the middle of it, and you need to know...the extent of my involvement."

Jen frowned. He had a point; now that he'd sent the girl to Wolfie her statement was a matter of record, part of the case. Wolfie and the others would want to know where she'd been, what she'd been doing when she got the call, whether the source had chosen her at random or because of her connections, and Nick was one of those connections. Did it matter that the journo was sleeping with a Sergeant in Serious Crime? Maybe, maybe not, but the braid would want to know, and if Jen and Nick were going to be partners she'd need to know, too. She only wished like hell that she didn't.

"All right," she said, her voice as soft as his had been.

"Her name's Juliet Gardner. She works for the Tribune. Human interest pieces. She's doing a story on Dane Majors, and that's what put me on her radar. We talked on the phone, did an in person interview last night. Things sort of...went from there. She was at mine when she got the call from her source. That's it."

"Right," Jen said.

That was it, then. The journo was just a girl he'd met, taken a shine to, taken back to his bed one time. It couldn't be love, then, she thought, not after one night, not with a journo, but Nick had never been the sort of man to tumble into bed with a woman he didn't already know well. He was guarded, careful, hard to pin down. He preferred his own company to that of strangers. Why, then? Why take her home? And what did it say about this Juliet, Jen wondered, that she'd let him? The one night Nick slept with Juliet just happened to be the same night she got a call from a mysterious source, on a story she never would have been assigned to cover, the same night three politicians were killed. Was there a connection there? She couldn't be sure, and she didn't like that one bit.

"Say something," he said, his voice low and yet full of distress. She couldn't look at him, kept her eyes straight ahead while her mind raced and her heart seemed to shatter in her chest.

"What do you want me to say, Nick?" How could she possibly respond to this? What did he expect from her in this moment? Would it be better for them both if she stuck to the questions that concerned the investigation, or was he hoping she'd have something more personal to say? Jen had no idea, and she couldn't seem to find her way through the mess.

"Tell me I'm an idiot," he answered heatedly. "Tell me I should have known better than to take a journo home. Tell me you hate me. Just, Christ, Jen, say something."

"Fine," she said then. She didn't hate him, couldn't hate him, not for this, not for anything, but the fact that he'd said it made her wonder. Did he think she should hate him, for sleeping with someone else? Did he want her to, want her to care enough about him to be angry that he'd moved on? And if he did...what then? Now was not the time for such questions, she thought, not this moment when they were trapped in the car and racing back to the station, back to work and hours upon hours - maybe even days - spent in one another's company, working together. And so she kept them to herself.

"Fine. It was bloody stupid to take a journo home, especially when you're the subject of a piece she's writing. Do you feel better?"

Nick let loose a sound that was nearly, but not quite, a laugh. "I feel bloody awful, actually," he said, but before he could continue his mobile rang again, and whatever else they might have said to one another was lost beneath the weight of the investigation at hand.

* * *

Everything was chaos, when they got back to the station. The teams that had been sent to tear apart the victims' offices were still entrenched in the town hall, but officers had been brought in from all departments to go over the victims' financials, their phone records, to cross check witness statements and dig through files, searching for some connection between these three people beyond the obvious, some reason why they should be targeted, some indication of whether more murders were in the offing. And above all that noise the conversation he'd had with Jen, the words he'd almost said were still ringing in his ears. Nick had wanted to tell her, then, why he'd taken Juliet home. That it was Jen he wanted, Jen he missed so much he ached with it, that Juliet was a nice girl and he'd taken a chance because he felt that he must, because he felt that something with her was better than nothing at all with anyone else, but that he'd forget her face in a heartbeat if only Jen came back to him. He wanted to tell her that every second he'd been with Juliet he'd been thinking of her, wanted to tell her that he wasn't sure it was worth it, starting over with someone new, that he wasn't even sure if he could. But would she want to hear all that? He didn't know, and he couldn't risk the operation at hand for the sake of his own uncertain heart.

The moment they stepped off the lifts Matt Ryan was racing towards them, a haggard look on his face.

"Thank god," he said. "Reinforcements."

"What's going on?" Nick asked him, looking out at the hurricane of people and paperwork flying around the bullpen.

"What isn't going on?" Matt said crossly. "Dunny just called. He's in the Lord Mayor's office now. Apparently there was a file there on a contractor the city hired to do some work down at the riverfront. It looks like the Deputy Mayor is an investor in the company. We're pulling his financials now, we've finally got the green light on that. In the meantime we're working on tracing the number of the anonymous source from your journo's phone."

Nick grimaced, and he rather thought he saw Jen flinch out of the corner of his eye upon hearing Matt refer to Juliet that way.

"It's a mobile, but we can't say who it belongs to just yet. Wolfie and Jarvis and Waverly are arguing over whether we should have the journo try to contact the source now."

"What do you think the verdict will be?" Nick asked tightly. There were risks, if Juliet tried to call the source now. Whoever it was had no doubt known the murders were coming, and they must have had a reason for choosing her. What if they were watching her? What if they knew already that she'd gone to the police?

"Jarvis is all for it. Waverly says no. Wolfie will be the swing vote. Everyone wants this wrapped up fast, and if we spook the source, could be he trips up, does something stupid."

"Or he could go to ground, and we'll never find him," Jen pointed out.

"That's what Waverly said. Christ, what a mess."

The three of them stood for a moment, hands in their pockets, mulling over all the information Matt had just imparted, wondering what came next. Maybe the Deputy Mayor was dirty, maybe he had been taking kickbacks in exchange for contracts, but that didn't seem like _enough,_ Nick thought, to justify the carnage of the night before. There had to be something else -

"There has to be something we're missing," Jen said.

It shouldn't have surprised him that their thoughts had run much the same course; there was a reason they'd always worked so well together in the past. _Christ,_ he missed her, the easy way they had between them, the sense of being _known_ , and not ever having to explain himself.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Matt said darkly. "Come on, there's pizza in the briefing room. You can get a bite to eat and we'll compare notes."

And so they did.


	12. Chapter 12

After a rundown and a quick bite of lunch with Matt, after a flurry of phone calls and tense conversations with the officers assigned to research and background, Wolfie made the call. He wanted all teams back at base, except for those who were still out interviewing the city councillors, for a briefing before he intended to have Juliet try to contact her source. To tell the truth Jen felt a bit bad for the woman, sitting all alone in an interview room, no doubt wondering what on earth she'd gotten herself into - and how on earth she was going to get out of it - but there had been too much to do to spend much time worry about Juliet, too many other irons in the fire, and besides it wouldn't have been appropriate for Nick to go down and keep her company. Jen certainly didn't want to, either.

They were no closer to an answer than they'd been that morning. The scope was too wide, too many names to check off the list, too many potential motives, too many bank accounts and phone records to slog through. As the teams that had been investigating the victims' offices began to trickle in the briefing room slowly swelled with life, and in that swell Jen felt herself being pulled away from Nick, as his team sought him out and her own pulled her away from him. Maybe it was better this way, better for them to return to their respective corners than to continue on side-by-side with one another; maybe it was a good thing, she tried to tell herself, that she should be reminded how their lives had diverged from one another, and were no longer meant to run the same course.

_It isn't...it's not like...I feel bloody awful, actually._

He'd been trying to tell her something, in the car, before they'd been interrupted by his mobile. In the moment Jen had been seized by a rather childish urge to hurl the mobile out the window, but now she wondered if maybe it wasn't a blessing that he had been cut short. Did it matter that he didn't love Juliet, that he'd only slept with her once and was feeling rotten about the way she'd been embroiled in the case? A lack of feeling for Juliet didn't mean he wanted Jen back, after all; she'd broken his heart and he was trying to move on, she knew that much already, and she wasn't sure she wanted to hear more. Maybe it would be better if he never said anything more about it outright, maybe it would be better if they didn't become the sort of mates who laughed about their conquests together, for Jen could hardly bear the thought of Juliet in Nick's bed, in his arms, but she likewise did not want to hold him back, if it was freedom and a future he wanted.

Jen was standing in a little circle with Duncan and Rhys and Allie and Adam; the others were comparing notes but Jen could not find her voice. There were several pages of carefully written notes on the Deputy Mayor in the little notebook she kept in her jacket pocket, and when Wolfie called on her to explain her findings she would have plenty to say, and she felt there was no point in repeating herself. She just stood, silent, watching the room, watching Nick with his team, the unquestioning way they seemed to listen to him, keen to do as he asked, to make him proud. She'd always known he would make a good Sergeant.

And then Wolfie came marching in, Waverly and Jarvis hot on his heels, and to her horror she saw that Juliet was with them. Her team didn't seem to notice this arrival, but Jen did, watched as the girl hesitated in the doorway, watched as her eyes scanned the room, finally settling on Nick. Once she'd found him she made a beeline for him at once, apparently unconcerned by the unprofessionalism of accosting her new lover in front of his subordinates. There was a dull hum of conversation in the room and so Jen could not hear what they said to one another, but she could see the way Juliet reached out, laid her hand against his arm, could see the soft smile he gave her, and her stomach did a funny little flip in her chest.

It wouldn't be fair, she knew, to resent Juliet. Likely Juliet didn't know anything at all about Jen, and _Nick and Jen,_ about their history. The girl had only spent one night in Nick's bed, and he wasn't the most forthcoming man. But she was a _girl,_ young and lovely; there was something gentle, something almost innocent about her sweet face, and Jen could easily how such a face might captivate a man like Nick, a quiet man, a thoughtful man, a man who did not go in for dramatics and ostentation. He could love a nice girl, she thought, and this Juliet, whose face was unlined, whose life was not colored by the trouble and danger of homicide, seemed very nice indeed. Too nice for Jen to justify her jealousy. Juliet had not taken anything that Jen had not given away freely.

"Right, you lot," Wolfie called. "Sergeant Ryan is going to lead the briefing. We want a full status report from each team. Sergeant Buchanan, Detective Mapplethorpe, you two are coming with me and Miss Gardner."

"Yes, Sarge," Jen answered reflexively, already stepping to follow his command though her mind was full of questions. Why pull them out of the briefing? Why was Juliet there, anyway? What was going to happen next?

She reached the doorway before Wolfie did, and lingered for a moment to allow him the chance to take the lead, and as she did she saw Nick and Juliet walking together, and was forced to look away. It was almost too much, seeing them side-by-side like that, Nick tall and strong, Juliet delicate and pretty; they looked _right_ together, and left Jen wondering how she'd gotten everything so _wrong._

Wolfie led the three of them back to his office, and promptly closed the door.

"Right," he said. "Miss Gardner, we've decided now would be a good time for you to contact your source."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out her mobile, sealed in an evidence bag.

Juliet's face paled.

"Why?" she asked. "He didn't say anything about me contacting him again. I don't want to spook him. And I won't reveal my source -"

"Your source knows something about the murder of three people, Juliet," Nick told her quietly, his tone soft enough to take the edge off his words. "The same rules don't apply."

"What am I supposed to say to him?" she asked, somewhat desperately, turning the full force of her pleading doe's eyes on Nick.

 _Christ,_ Jen hated this.

"We need to draw him out," Wolfie said. "You have some procedure for determining the legitimacy of any source, yes? Tell him you think his information is credible but you don't have enough to take it to print. Ask him to meet you this afternoon. Riverview park would be best. Somewhere open, visible."

"Isn't there any other way?" Juliet asked miserably.

"We'll be with you," Nick promised her softly. "You won't be alone. We'll keep you safe."

He meant it, Jen knew. Even if he'd only spent one night with her this girl must have meant something to him, and Nick always protected those he cared about. He was a good man, and the one person Jen would most have wanted in her corner if she'd been in Juliet's shoes.

 _Does she know how lucky she is?_ Jen wondered. Men like Nick didn't come along everyday; he was special. She'd known that from the moment she first met him all those years ago, when he'd reached out to shake her hand, smiling easily when he introduced himself as _Wesley._ Had Juliet felt the same relief the night before that Jen had felt on that night nearly six years ago? Relief to find that the man she'd be working with - and Nick and Juliet _had_ started off professionally, meeting to discuss her article, whatever had happened next - was not smug or weak or leering, but gentle, and strong, and brave, and kind. Any woman would be lucky, Jen thought, to have such a man.

"What if he won't come?"

"I'm sure you'll be very convincing," Wolfie told her dryly. Carefully he pulled her mobile from the evidence bag, and passed it to her.

"We're right here with you," Nick said, stepping in close to her, and Jen looked away, pained by their proximity, wishing it didn't take her so hard seeing them like this, wishing she were anywhere else in the world.

* * *

He had to focus on Juliet. It was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. He was the one she trusted, the one she would look to for support when she stumbled, and he was the only one who had any chance of keeping her calm. They needed her calm, needed her to sound as if nothing was amiss, needed her to set this meet up, and soon. The job had to come first, and Nick's feelings would have to take a backseat, no matter how cruel an act it seemed for him to speak to Juliet so warmly while Jen was watching. He would have given anything to spare her this scene, but he knew why she was there. Wolfie needed a witness, someone besides the man who had slept with Juliet the night before, and Jen was his insurance policy. Jen was the one who'd sign the evidence forms when this was over, the one whose report would back up Wolfie's story about how the call had gone down. And Jen was the one person who never should have been in a room with Juliet, not now that she knew the truth.

Did it hurt her? He wondered as Juliet pressed shaking fingertips to the screen of her mobile. Was Jen wounded, to see him with someone else, to know that he'd moved on, or was she relieved that she no longer had to worry about him suffering without her? Would it matter, or had too much time passed, had their lives diverged so completely that there was no longer any reason to hope for something more between them?

"Miss Gardner," a man's voice came through the phone speakers, and Nick tensed, trying to push thoughts of Jen and the tangled mess of their personal lives aside. "This is unexpected."

"It seems you were right about a shakeup in the government," Juliet told him, and Nick had to give her credit, for while she was plainly terrified her voice did not betray her. "I went to speak to the Deputy Mayor this morning and cops were everywhere. I'm sure you've heard about the murders by now."

"Perhaps," the man answered carefully.

"My boss is screaming for an exclusive. He wants the Tribune to run the story no one else can get. I think you can help make that happen."

"I told you to look into the Deputy Mayor's finances. Isn't that enough?"

"We can't get near him with the cops crawling all over the place. They're looking into it themselves, but you know what they're like. I don't want them to have a chance to bury this. I want to speak to you."

"We're speaking now, aren't we?"

"I don't know your name, or how you came by your information, or what more you might be able to give me. You've got to give me something to work with."

It was almost alarming, he thought, how well she was handling herself. _I'm the get them to pour their hearts out girl,_ she'd told him, and he believed it now, seeing her in action. It left him feeling a little uneasy; had she worked her magic on him the night before? Had she only been trying to pull a story out of him, not interested in him for his own sake but rather for the sake of the article she might make out of him? Nick wanted to believe she had been genuine in her interest, but now he was less sure; she was too smooth, too practiced. _Never trust a bloody journo,_ he told himself.

"Fine," the man snapped. "You want to meet, is that it?"

"Yes," Juliet answered at once. "But we need to be careful. Somewhere public, but where we won't stand out. Riverview park, near the playground? Everyone will be too busy watching the kiddies to pay attention to us."

"In an hour?"

"Make it two," she said.

"Done. I'll be carrying a leather briefcase. And don't worry, Juliet, I already know what you look like. I'll have no trouble finding you."

And then he ended the call.

"That was well done," Wolfie said, promptly taking the phone from Juliet and tucking it back in the evidence bag. "Now here's the plan."


	13. Chapter 13

"She's handling this well," Jen said softly.

They were sitting together on a park bench, Nick's arm slung casually around Jen's shoulders. The two hours Juliet had bought for them allowed enough time for Nick and Jen - and about a dozen other officers - to change into civvies and get into position. Nick and Jen had left their car at the far end of the park, had wandered with all appearance of casual aimlessness along the trails until they came to a stop in front of the play area, which currently hosted no more than half a dozen children and their hovering parents. They were covered in tech, of course, each of them concealing a small bug in their ears so they could stay in contact with the other teams, but those little earpieces were all but invisible, and he didn't think anyone would guess what they were up to. Or at least, he hoped not.

The point was to blend in. To look like a normal couple, enjoying a fine day, enjoying one another, watching the little ones clambering over the playground equipment. Nick rather thought they were pulling it off; he was wearing jeans, and Jen had tugged on a tight pair of stretchy black yoga pants, and they both wore t-shirts. They didn't look like cops, sitting there together, Jen tucked into the crook of his arm. They were too well-practiced at this, pretending. It was how they'd gotten their start all those years before; pretending to be married to one another, pretending to be the antithesis of their very selves. It was alarming, really, how easily the old training had come back to him, how naturally Jen had slotted herself into place beside him, how naturally he had accepted her.

But it wasn't only training that made them so comfortable with one another, and they both knew it. Too many nights spent in her bed, too many quiet meals, quiet talks, quiet walks through the woods near Nick's house; they looked like a couple because they had been, once, and old habits were hard to break. Jen had brought him back to reality with a thump, though, had with a few quiet words reminded him just how their circumstances had changed. She wasn't his, any more, and they were there to do a job.

That job was Juliet, Juliet who even now sat on a bench by herself on the other side of the playground. Nick and Jen were both careful not to look directly at her, choosing instead to watch her from the corners of their eyes, knowing that the source was close and would be looking for trouble; too much interest on their part might well blow this operation before it had even properly begun. There were other officers present at other vantage points; the whole area was well covered, and Juliet sat very still, looking straight ahead, not fidgeting or desperately looking for their mark; no doubt it was her relatively calm appearance that had compelled Jen to speak.

"She's a professional," Nick answered her quietly. Belatedly he realized how familiar it sounded, him speaking about Juliet in such a way; in truth he hardly knew her, and he didn't want Jen to get the wrong idea. He'd told her already that he had only slept with Juliet once, and he knew that ought to have been the end of it, but somehow, still, it was important to him that she know Juliet was not already a fixture in his life.

"I suppose she has to meet all sorts of people in all sorts of places," Jen said, still keeping her voice low. "Journo has to go where the news is."

"Yeah," Nick said. "Yeah." Was that why Juliet had so carefully insinuated herself into his bed? He had known from the moment they finished their first drink that she was interested, that she wouldn't be opposed to shagging him, but he still didn't know, really, whether it was _him_ she wanted, or the story. Was Jen trying to remind him how dangerous it could be to trust a journo? Or was she just trying to make conversation? _Christ,_ he thought, _when did everything get so complicated?_

"Look alive," a sharp voice murmured over their earpieces. "Bloke with a briefcase is approaching, two o'clock."

They did not immediately look. They did not even move; they were both too well trained to give themselves away so easily. All they knew about the source was that he was a man and that he had told Juliet he would be carrying a leather briefcase, but even so a man with a briefcase on this side of the park was a rare sight, and Nick knew it was likely that the man who'd been spotted was the one they wanted. _Easy now,_ he told himself. _Easy._ He turned his head, brushed his lips against Jen's temple, hovered there for a moment as if whispering to her, and then turned back, smiling, and let his eyes wash over Juliet.

The man was approaching her, and she rose to her feet as he drew near. His back was towards Nick and Jen now, almost blocking Juliet from sight; it was a blessing, for it meant that Nick could watch their conversation openly, but it left him anxious, too, not being able to see her. Though he knew Juliet's involvement in this disaster was no fault of his own he could not help but feel responsible for her, somehow; she was young, and unaccustomed to danger, and he had slept with her, and that made it his duty, he thought, to protect her. One rather short and rather unremarkable liaison was not enough to inspire his everlasting love, but it was enough to bind him to her, in its own way.

"I don't like this," Jen whispered.

"She's just got to keep her cool," Nick answered. "Public park, kiddies, witnesses, he won't pull anything. He's worried about his own safety, too."

And oh, how he hoped that was true. Only an absolute lunatic would pull a gun or a knife under these circumstances, and the source had been too careful so far, Nick thought, to take such a risk now. Juliet had been carefully coached; they needed to know who the source was, where he got his information, whether he knew anything about the murders, and if he did whether there were more murders forthcoming. Such questions could not be asked outright, not to a man like this; he'd spook and they'd never see him again. She'd have to approach him carefully, come at him from an angle, and Nick rather thought she'd be good at that. Gaining people's trust, teasing out their stories, getting them to talk when no one else could; that was her job.

 _It worked on me,_ he thought glumly.

They were still talking, Juliet and the source. Nick hadn't gotten a good look at the man's face, but he could see even from a distance that the source was about average height, stocky, blonde. It wasn't enough to give to a sketch artist, but it was more than nothing, and Nick watched him carefully, looking for some other detail he could report back, should he need to give a description of the bloke further down the track, looking for any signs of trouble.

"How long do you think-" Jen started to ask, but she never got a chance to finish that thought, for even as the first word left her lips Nick noticed the man reach into his coat. Nick tensed, Jen spoke, and then the man's hand moved, and then -

"GUN!" Nick roared, leaping to his feet. There was an explosion of chatter over the earpiece, but he paid it no mind; he was already running straight towards Juliet, Jen hot on his heels, swearing. At the sound of his voice several of the ladies gathered around the playground had screamed and raced for their children, and bodies seemed to be moving in every direction. The source startled when Nick called out; Nick had hoped he'd drop the weapon and run, but luck wasn't on his side. The blonde man pulled the gun, and pointed it at Juliet, and Nick ran like his own life depended on it, horror and adrenaline making him move faster than he thought possible. He was too far back; though he was gaining on them with each passing second it would only take an instant, he knew, for this maniac to hurt Juliet, to spill her blood out on the pristine green grass beneath their feet, and he could not bear the thought of it. She was too young, to face such horror. She had not signed on for this sort of danger, and it wasn't fair that she should be risking her life now, and he would never forgive himself, if she died while he watched.

He needn't have worried, however. The new homicide detective Carter had been closer to Juliet when Nick first saw the flash of the gun, and before the source could make a move Carter had tackled him from the side, sent him sprawling in the dirt while Juliet screamed.

Nick and Jen reached them a moment later; Jen went straight to help Carter, who was currently kneeling on the source's back. One of the mums behind them was still screaming, several of the children were wailing, voices were chattering over the earpiece. There was too much _noise;_ Nick ripped his earpiece out, and in the next second he was beside Juliet. Tears were streaming silently down her face, and she was trembling from head to foot, her eyes wide with shock. When she caught sight of him she seemed to deflate, her shoulders sagging; she took a single, stumbling step and then she was in his arms.

He didn't think; he couldn't think. Reflexively he wrapped his arms around her, let her nestle her head in the crook of his neck, and held on to her tightly. She was safe; the man hadn't managed to fire a shot, and Carter had subdued him, and Jen was there, and Nick knew nothing would get by Jen. There was no one he'd rather have by his side, watching his back, than Jen, and he took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He was just so bloody _relieved;_ terror had gripped him, for a moment, when he thought that perhaps he might have failed Juliet, and he knew that if anything had befallen her he would have blamed himself for it, forever. Maybe he didn't love her, but he damn sure didn't want her death on his conscience.

Trying to calm his racing heart, trying to soothe Juliet, occupied him for a moment, but he was still a copper; he couldn't stand around holding on to her all day. Looking for direction, then, looking for some way to move things along and get Juliet to safety, he looked down to where Carter and Jen knelt at his feet, and his heart, so recently overcome with fear, and then with relief, sank once more, for Jen was looking up at him, her expression unreadable. Jen was kneeling there on the grass, Jen who was so beautiful, so calm, so strong, watching him with his arms around Juliet. He knew what this must look like, what Jen must be thinking, but much as he longed to reassure her that it was still Jen, always Jen, only Jen he loved, he knew he could not say such a thing while Juliet was still wrapped around him, while she was still so shaken and terrified. The job had to come first, and the job right now was Juliet. And so he only swallowed his own feelings and ran his hand gently over Juliet's dark hair.

"It's all right," he said as she continued to weep, clinging to him. Jen looked away, and Nick's heart broke just a little bit more, wondering if it hurt her to see him with Juliet, wondering if there was anyway to come back from this. "It's all right," he said.


	14. Chapter 14

A sound behind him made Nick turn; it was only Wolfie, and Nick relaxed, settled back in his chair as Wolfie came to lean against the desk beside him, watching the interview playing out over the monitors. They'd brought Juliet's source straight to the station and straight to the interview room, and Jen was in charge of things now, handling the questioning while Nick sat and observed. He would rather have been in that room with her, working through this problem together, but he had to be mindful of appearances as a Sergeant in a way he'd never had to be while he was just a detective, and he'd benched himself before the braid got the chance. The bloke sitting across the table from Jennifer had pulled a gun on Juliet, and Nick's connection to Juliet was now a matter of record, and nevermind that he didn't love her, any defense attorney worth their salt would have a field day with the optics of that particular exchange.

"How's she doing?" Wolfie asked softly.

Nick sighed. _I wish I knew,_ he thought glumly. It was always nerve wracking when a suspect pulled a gun, and the fact that he hadn't gotten a shot off didn't necessarily mean that Jen wouldn't be shaken by the encounter. What she'd seen after, Juliet clinging to Nick, Nick trying to comfort her while he wished like hell that he was anywhere else, that might have shaken her, too; she'd volunteered to ride back to the station with Carter, and let Nick take Juliet himself. It might have been an act of kindness, allowing Nick and Juliet a few minutes alone, but somehow he thought it had more to do with a desire on Jen's part to avoid both of them than with any kind of altruism. She had, in fact, not spoken a single word to him since they'd gotten back to the station. _I just wish I knew what she was thinking._ He kept those particular musings to himself, however.

"Yeah, she's all right," he said. "She's kept her calm with him, and he's already told her more in five minutes than we've been able to uncover in the last twenty-four hours."

Wolfie frowned, and that troubled Nick somewhat; he'd thought the Sarge would be pleased. They knew the source's name, knew how he'd come by his information, and as they sat watching Jen was teasing more details out of him by the second. Surely Wolfie should have proud, Nick thought, proud of his detective for her clear thinking and her skills in interview, relieved to know they finally had a tangible lead, but that frown did not budge.

"I meant Miss Gardner," he said.

_Oh, bugger it all._

Of course he'd been talking about Juliet. It was the logical thing to do; Nick had just watched while the woman he'd shagged had very nearly been shot, and she was young and unaccustomed to danger, and Wolfie was a compassionate man. No doubt he'd been concerned about how Juliet was handling the stress of it all, and how Nick was handling his feelings for her, his worry for her well-being. He must have assumed Nick would be worried about her, but they had tucked her up in one of the comfortable holding rooms they used for victims and family members, given her a hot cup of tea and a uniformed officer to keep her company, and he'd not spared a thought for her since. It was Jen who occupied his mind, Jen he worried for, Jen he wanted to speak to more than anything, but Wolfie didn't need to know that, couldn't begin to understand it, and Nick couldn't help but worry he'd just made a grievous misstep.

"She's holding up well," he said. "She's a little shaken, but the bloke didn't manage to get shot off, and she'll be all right."

"I understand she wants to go home," Wolfie said. "I'm not sure that's wise just yet. We don't know if this source of hers was working with anyone else, and we don't yet know the extent of the threat."

No, they didn't know _anything_ yet, it seemed like. Jen was doing her best, but there were too many variables to account for. Keeping Juliet at the station for the time being might have been the safest course of action, but it was already early evening, and she'd gotten even less sleep the night before than Nick himself had done. There was nowhere for her to sleep, here, nowhere but the couch she was currently sitting on, and she'd need to be fed, to be looked after. And if she were here, Nick might well feel the need to do that himself, and he knew his efforts would be better spent on the case.

"Could we spare two uniforms?" he asked. "We don't know that anyone else is coming after her, and there's no more information she can give us. They could keep an eye on her, until this blows over."

"We've been approved for all the overtime we need," Wolfie answered slowly. "The powers that be have given us more or less free rein on this. And it might help keep the team focused if no one has to babysit her."

Nick breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to know that Juliet could be both safe and out from underfoot. Perhaps she deserved more regard from him, but she was the one who'd asked to go home in the first place, and he couldn't help but agree that might be best for everyone involved.

"I'll take care of it," Wolfie said. "And I'll call the team together. I want Jennifer and Duncan to brief everybody as soon as this interview is over."

"Yes, Sarge," Nick agreed, and that was that.

* * *

Nick was waiting for her in the corridor when she stepped out of interview. She'd been expecting that, somehow; they hadn't had a chance to talk since Juliet's idiot source had pulled his gun, and she knew that Nick would want a chance to go over things, together. That was all well and good for him, but every time Jen closed her eyes she saw Nick holding on to Juliet, running his hand over her hair, whispering to her softly, and her heart cracked a little each time that memory replayed in her mind. Only last night she had set a course straight for him, determined that Nick was the one she wanted, the one she needed, certain that she loved him and certain that love was worth fighting for, but from that moment to this she had been assaulted at every turn by the reminder that Nick had moved on, chosen someone else, and that her certainty had come too late to save them. The last thing she wanted was to talk to him now.

But she had to; Duncan was marching the source - a small-time government lackey named Frank Holland - downstairs for booking, and the team would need to be briefed on what they'd found.

"Drugs, then?" Nick said.

Jen sighed and leaned back against the wall, scrubbing her hands over her face. Yes, the answer was drugs. A ring of smugglers had been bringing all sorts from all over the world, had developed a tightknit operation, and had through money and enticement and intimidation embroiled both the Mayor and the Deputy Mayor in their scheme. That was why Holland had rung Juliet and told her to look at the Deputy Mayor's finances; there was a steady stream of unidentified cash payments, and he had paid off the mortgage on his home ten years ahead of schedule. Holland had known nothing about the murders, had only brought a gun to the meet with Juliet because he was jumpy, and had - according to him - only drawn it to show it to her, to show her how frightened he was. The two city councillors who had been murdered were on to the scheme, and had been gathering evidence, nearly had enough to bring the case to light, and had been removed by the drug runners before they could speak out.

"Drugs," she answered, grumbling. That meant they'd need to call in even more officers, expand their circle to include the Drugs team; no doubt those fellas would have information on the perpetrators of this particular crime, but Jen didn't like the idea of pulling in even more bodies, complicating their efforts still further.

"It's always sex or money at the end of the day, isn't it?" Nick asked.

For a moment Jen thought about contradicting him, trying to build some argument about how varied the motives for murder could be, but in the end she didn't, because she knew he was right. Murder was one of the most heinous crimes a person could commit, to end a life for selfish reasons or in a fit of blind rage, and no matter how each killer tried to justify what they'd done at the end of the day it almost always came down to sex or money. Drugs, infidelity, jealousy, fear, depravity; it almost always blossomed from the same tainted seeds.

"Yeah," she said. "We need a plan here, Nick. The Deputy Mayor was in on the drug running but they didn't kill him. It makes me think they wanted him to take over, so they could keep their operation running."

"Or they didn't get a chance, because his wife was home. Stone and Johnston were alone when they were killed."

"Shanahan wasn't," Jen fired back, wishing she didn't enjoy this so much, the back and forth between them, the way they played off one another and found their way through. They had always been a _team_ , and she missed that dynamic so much she ached with it.

"Do we think any of the other councillors are in danger?"

Jen shook her head. "No, it was just those two who knew."

"So it seems like the Deputy Mayor needs to be the focus. These guys are either going to kill him, or try to use him. We've had uniforms sitting on him all day-"

"He hasn't been able to make any calls or use the computer-"

"They'll want to get in touch with him but they won't do it while the place is crawling with cops-"

"Do we bring him in and hope he flips?"

"We don't have enough information to take him down. It's Holland's word against the Deputy Mayor. We need the councillors' files-"

"And it'll be dark soon, and if the drug runners want to kill him-"

"They'd wait until he was alone, and it was dark."

And just like that, Jen realized they had a plan. While half the team continued the search for the missing evidence that would convict both the Deputy Mayor and the men he'd been working for, the other half would need to work with the Drugs squad, would need to identify the drug ring and try to sniff them out. The best way to bring them into the light would be to bait a trap, and there would be no finer bait than the Deputy Mayor himself.

"It's going to be a long night," Nick said, and as his eyes searched his face Jen knew that his thoughts had followed the same course as her own, that they were, without need of further discussion, on the same page and ready to move forward. Everything was just so much easier, with Nick; she never had to explain herself, and she never had to fear his judgement of her. _Christ,_ she missed him.

Before she could say another word, however, the sound of footsteps behind her made her turn, and she saw Juliet walking towards them, flanked by a pair of uniforms.

"Nick!" Juliet called out, rushing away from her escort, rushing towards him.

Jen didn't hesitate.

"Briefing in ten minutes," she told him softly, and then she walked away, left Nick and his new love to enjoy a few moments' peace while she carried her wounded heart back down the corridor, trying to focus on the problem at hand and not the sight of Nick, standing with that girl who was young, and pretty, and meant more to him now than Jen ever would again.


	15. Chapter 15

For the second time in twenty-four hours Jen found herself sitting in a car outside Nick's house. She was in her own car, this time, parked right out front, rather than sitting in the back of a cab three houses down, and her heart was not full of hope, now, as it had been then.

A plan had been drawn up, in an attempt to lure out drug runners behind the assassination of the Lord Mayor and the two councillors. The Drugs squad had a fair idea who might be behind it all, and they had taken off with a bevy uniformed officers in tow to stakeout the place where their suspects usually operated. Serious Crime and Homicide had taken over surveillance on the Deputy Mayor; half of the teams were dispatched to keep watch over his home from 6:00 p.m. until midnight, with the other half set to relieve them when the time came, and stay outside his house until dawn. Nick and Jen had been lucky; they'd been sent home to shower, and eat, and try to rest before taking over at midnight. Not that Jen had got much rest, during the few precious hours she'd been allowed at home; the house had seemed eerily quiet, after the chaos of the day, and strangely empty, without Nick.

How could it be, she wondered, that so much could change in a day? She had been content, before, certain that she'd made the right choice, that Nick was better off without her, and now she felt the grief of his loss anew, as if it had only just occurred. Maybe, she thought, she hadn't been content at all, before. Maybe she'd just buried this pain, and that stupid conversation with Matt and this terrible day spent side-by-side with Nick had just brought it all back to the surface. Maybe she was only just now feeling the depth of her loss, only just beginning to reckon with the reality of spending the rest of her life without him. Maybe it took learning that he was gone for good to make her see just what she'd sacrificed the day she walked away from him.

 _Or maybe I'm just bloody pathetic,_ she thought grimly.

They'd agreed that Jen would pick him up at 11:00, and it was now five minutes past. She'd texted him when she arrived, not wanting to venture into his house now that she knew Juliet Gardener had been there the night before, but Nick hadn't answered, and she was growing antsy. It wasn't like him, not to respond. He hadn't seemed particularly cross with her, hadn't seemed particularly bothered by their being thrown back together like this, and she could think of no reason for him to avoid her. That thought only sent her anxiety spiraling, however, wondering what could have befallen him, wondering if something terrible had happened and she was just sitting outside, waiting for an answer that would never come. She was suddenly reminded of the day those two lunatics had jumped Dunny while Simon waited outside his home, and in the next breath she had all but leapt from the car.

The walk to his front door was familiar, and the spare key was right where it had always been beneath a rock in the flowerbed. The door opened easily, and Jen stepped into Nick's house for the first time in half a year.

His repairs were nearly finished, now. The foyer had been a work zone the last time she'd seen it, but now it was pristine and clean. There was a workbench piled high with tools and a collection of paint buckets in the living room, tarps thrown over the furniture, as if he meant to make a start on it but hadn't had the chance. She walked through, heading for the kitchen where the overhead light - which at the time of her last visit had been no more than a single exposed bulb and was now an elegant fixture - twinkled merrily over newly sanded and painted cabinets. Her progress slowed as she approached the kitchen, however, for she saw then that she was not alone, and her heart sank in her chest.

Juliet Gardener was sitting on a stool beside the little island Nick had built, clutching a cup of tea. Her pretty eyes looked a little wild around the edges as she caught sight of Jen, but she gave a pretty, endearing sort of smile when she realized who had interrupted her.

"Oh, you scared me," she said lightly. "I must be jumpy, after everything."

Desperately Jen tried to keep her own distress from showing on her face, used every ounce of self-restraint she possessed to offer a kindly smile in return.

"It's been a difficult day," she said.

"You work with Nick, right?" Juliet said, sliding off her stool and reaching out to offer Jen her hand to shake, which she did as quickly as possible. "I'm Juliet."

"Detective Mapplethorpe," Jen answered. There was a pause, then, as Juliet looked at her expectantly, and Jen realized how strange it must seem, her letting herself into Nick's house without any sort of invitation or explanation. "I'm here to pick him up, we've got to go back to work."

"He's just in the shower," Juliet told her, motioning vaguely toward the stairs, and Jen's stomach began to eat itself with jealousy, anger and grief rising like bile in the back of her throat. Had Juliet been here this whole time, then? Had Nick come home from work, exhausted, and folded himself into her arms, lost all track of time while she covered him with the warmth of her body? Was he even now washing the scent of her perfume off his skin? Jen wanted, very much, to be better than the jealousy that threatened to consume her, to be cool and distant, to be at peace with the choices she'd made, but faced with the stark reality of Nick shagging someone else her heart had begun to scream. _It should have been us,_ she thought glumly, _we should have made it. We should have had another chance._

"I feel like I should offer you a cup of tea, or something," Juliet said, and thought her expression was perfectly sincere there was something awkward about her demeanor, as if she felt the strangeness of this moment as keenly as Jen did.

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Jen said at once. "I'll just wait outside. If you could, let him know I'm here? We really do need to get going."

Juliet opened her mouth as if to answer, but then cocked her head, clearly listening for something.

"It sounds like he's finished up there," she said, and Jen realized then that she could no longer hear the sound of the water running through the pipes up to the shower. "I'm sure it'll only be a few more minutes. Actually, I'm the one who should go."

"No, you should stay," Jen protested, already backing away, "you're his...well. I'm sure he'll want to talk to you."

"I'm not his anything," Juliet said softly, and Jen froze in place, wondering what on earth she was supposed to say in response; _Christ_ , but this was strange, standing here with the woman who'd just shagged Nick, hearing her say such things _._

"Nick's nice," Juliet continued, "he's really...nice. But I don't think it's gonna work out, him and me. He's too quiet," she gave a wry sort of grimace, "and between you and me, I get the feeling he doesn't really want me anyway."

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true," Jen said faintly. She could barely hear her own voice over the pounding of her heart, the rushing of her blood in her veins. Could it be, she wondered now, that she'd been wrong about Juliet, about Nick, that she'd been wrong about everything from the start? Was it not love that compelled Nick to look out for Juliet? And if Nick didn't love Juliet, if he didn't want her and she didn't want to stick around, if that were true -

 _Get ahold of yourself,_ she thought sternly. Even if Nick didn't have his heart set on Juliet there was still no reason to believe he'd been willing to go back to the same woman who chose her job over him and broke his heart. There was no reason to believe that she hadn't lost her chance, that they could ever make good the damage done between them. There was no reason to think that after six months apart they could somehow rediscover the closeness, the understanding they'd once shared between them. There was no reason, save for the hope that had begun to swell within Jen's chest.

"It is," Juliet told her. Funny, but she didn't sound too broken up about it, didn't sound as if it made her sad, to think this handsome man, this nice man, wasn't interested in her. She was actually rather matter-of-fact about the whole thing, and that made Jen feel a little better, a little less like a green-eyed monster seeking to wrench love out of this poor girl's hands.

"I had my police escort drive me over here, so we could talk about it. I told him I felt like he was never really present with me, and he said that's because he wasn't. We were going to talk again when he got out of the shower but honestly, I don't think we've got anything left to say to each other. He's in love with someone else, isn't he?"

The question was delivered in a tone more curious than anything else; Juliet was a journo, after all, and Jen supposed curiosity about people and the motivations that drove them must be characteristic of most any one in that profession. Maybe after everything Juliet still saw Nick as just another story, another interesting lead, and nothing more. But to Jen Nick was everything, and she didn't feel comfortable talking about him like this, especially given that while she did not know if Nick was in love with someone else she did know for a fact that someone else was in love with him. Something must have made Juliet ask that question, though; something must have made her feel as if he had his mind on someone else. He'd told Juliet he'd never really been present with her; where had his thoughts traveled while he was lying beside her? Could it be, Jen wondered, that the night before when hope had filled her, when she'd been overcome by the certainty that Nick was the one meant for her, he had been lying awake, thinking the same thing? Just the idea of it was nearly enough to bring tears to her eyes; she wanted to believe he still cared for her so badly that she ached with it. The memories they'd made in this house together, the long Saturday mornings they'd spent wrapped up in each other, the thousand quiet moments they had shared, all of that and a wistful longing for everything they used to be came washing over her, and Jen had to close her eyes, just for a second, to stop her from blurting out the truth.

"It's all right," Juliet said, and when Jen looked the girl was watching her, something satisfied and certain in her gaze that told Jen all too plainly that she had not done a good enough job of hiding her own emotions. "I think I understand now."

Actually, Jen was fairly certain Juliet couldn't have the first idea about what had really gone on between Nick and Jen. The way they'd met, the way they'd spent a year relying solely on one another, burying themselves beneath one another's skin, never to be removed, the time they'd spent apart and the sheer holy turn of fate that had sent them back into one another's path, the long slow months of working together, spiraling closer and closer, the way the Supomo case had snapped the last of their restraint and sent them tumbling together, the blind, beautiful intimacy they shared after that, the way their lives had fallen into step with one another, the earnest sincerity in Nick's voice when he'd said _let's get married, have kids;_ no, Juliet couldn't begin to understand any of that. But maybe when she'd looked at Jen she'd read the longing of her heart just the same, maybe that much she did understand.

"I hope you work it out," Juliet said, abandoning her cup of tea on the counter. "I really do. But, please don't take this personally, I hope I never see either of you again."

Jen laughed, a bit wetly, trying not to cry, trying and failing to find some word of kindness to offer the poor girl, and coming up short. Juliet didn't seem to mind, though; she smiled, and gathered up her bag, and marched right out the door without another word, leaving Jen alone in the kitchen with her thoughts racing through her mind, accompanied by the soft sound of Nick moving around upstairs. Any minute now he'd come down, and find Juliet gone and Jen waiting for him, and then…

 _And then we go to work,_ she told herself. _We'll deal with the rest of it later._


	16. Chapter 16

Nick moved through to his bedroom, swiping at his damp hair with a towel, his movements quick and efficient. He was already running late; Juliet had arrived unexpectedly just as he woke from a short nap, and her insistence that they have _a talk_ laid all his plans to waste. It was the last thing he'd wanted, standing there in his kitchen having one of the most of uncomfortable conversations of his entire life with a woman he barely knew, but he felt he owed it to her to hear her out, owed it to both of them to lay any potential misunderstandings to rest. They kept stumbling into one another over the course of the day, moments of adrenaline and fear pushing them together, and it was easy under such circumstances to confuse comfort for love, protection for devotion. That it was Juliet, and not Nick, who both recognized the patterns they'd established in such a short time and also recognized that they must stop, had surprised him. How many times in the last twenty-four hours had he tried to talk himself into caring for her? How many times had he looked at Jen, and felt his heart clench with grief at the thought that he could not have her, and tried to convince himself to give Juliet a chance? Too many times, he knew. It was Juliet, not Nick, who ended things between them before they'd ever properly begun.

 _You're a good man, Nick,_ she'd told him. _But you're not being honest with yourself._

It had occurred to him to wonder, as he stared at her ashen-faced and gawping, how on earth she'd read him so easily. He thought he'd done rather a good job of keeping his worries to himself, playing the part of the attentive lover, but Juliet had seen through him, just the same. Perhaps it was her profession that gave her such insight, made it so easy for her to read people, even those who did not want to be read.

 _When we were talking last night, after,_ she'd said, _it's like you weren't even there. You weren't present with me._

And what could he say to that? She'd watched him, her doe's eyes wide and expectant, and his shoulders had sagged, and he'd finally given in, and given her more of himself more than he ever had before.

 _No,_ he'd told her. _I wasn't._

He had been miles away, thinking of Jen, missing Jen. It was Jen's smile he wanted, Jen's head that should have been resting on his pillow, Jen who fit beneath his arm like she belonged there. It was Jen who knew him, and when he was with Jen he felt more himself than he ever had before, or ever had done since. A piece of himself was missing, without her. But Jen didn't want him, Jen had tried to move on, and what kind of a heartless bastard would he be if he ignored her obvious wishes and pressed his advances where they weren't welcome?

 _Finding another woman isn't the answer,_ he thought as he tugged his trousers on. His attempts at finding another woman had failed rather spectacularly, and he'd learned his lesson. Maybe someday there would be someone else, someone who looked at him and _saw_ him, someone he could trust, someone he could hold, someone he could love. But there was no use trying to force it, and he had more pressing matters to attend to. He'd always been comfortable in his own company, and there was still work to be done on the house, and his team needed him; there was no point in searching for something that might not exist, and he'd rather not inflict himself on another woman the way he had done to Juliet. It had been unkind of him, he knew now, to encourage them both to hope when there was no hope to be found.

But Juliet was still waiting for him downstairs, and as he buttoned up his favorite green shirt he found himself wondering what on earth he could say to her now. _There's someone else_ , _isn't there?_ She'd asked him, but it was a question he had not answered, for he'd caught sight of the clock then and seized on the excuse to leave her. Jen would be arriving soon - if she hadn't already, he really was running behind - and they would need to go to work, and it wouldn't do him any good to have a head full of heartache when he saw her. Besides, he didn't think it would help Juliet to know that she was right, that he had seen her as a chance to forget someone else, wouldn't help her to know for a certainty that she had not been enough to banish the memory of the woman who'd broken his heart. It would be kinder to leave such thoughts unspoken.

Clean and dressed and ready for the long night ahead Nick ventured out of his room, made his way down the stairs, and still he had no idea what to say to Juliet. He would need to send her on her way, and check his mobile, see if Jen had arrived already. Maybe she had, and Jen waiting in her car just outside his door would provide him the perfect opportunity to send Juliet home with her escort.

Only Juliet wasn't waiting for him when he got back to the kitchen, and Jen wasn't waiting in her car outside. To his utter confusion Juliet was nowhere in sight, and Jen herself was standing at the sink, humming softly as she washed out an empty teacup.

For a moment Nick simply stood and stared at her; she did not seem to have noticed his arrival, and he took advantage of the opportunity to just look at her before she closed herself off from him once more. She was beautiful, now and always, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in real life. Maybe that had less to do with the lines of her face or the softness of her body, and more to do with how he knew her, inside and out, how every single piece of her seemed made for _him,_ as if some force - God, fate, the universe itself - had looked into his soul, and poured every quality he ever dreamed of in a lover into the form of one strong, determined, brilliant, beautiful woman. There wasn't much of the poet in Nick; he had a deep appreciation for nature and he took pleasure in making things with his own two hands, but artistry and flowery words had never been his forte. Jen was a work of art, though, and when he saw her his heart sang out, hungry for her.

"Hey," he said softly, knowing that he had to announce his presence, knowing it wasn't fair of him to watch her like this for long, when she didn't know he was there, and probably wouldn't want his eyes on her, anyway.

Jen hummed, softly, to let him know she'd heard her, and finished drying off the cup before placing it into the correct cabinet. The cabinets hadn't been finished, the last time she was here; the last time she'd been in his house all his kitchen things had been in boxes, and they'd drunk wine from chipped coffee mugs. Still, though, she'd known, somehow, exactly where he kept the teacups now, and Nick realized with a start that he'd stored them in exactly the same place where they'd kept the teacups in the Claybourne house, a lifetime ago, in the upper cabinet just to the left of the sink.

 _It all goes back to that,_ he thought as Jen turned to look at him. Everything they were, everything they had been or ever would be again, had been built upon the foundation of that tumultuous, terrible year when Jen had been his wife, and he had fallen in love with her, quite completely.

"Juliet left," Jen said softly as she leaned back against the sink.

"Good," he said, his voice as soft as hers as been. There was nothing left for him to say to Juliet, and he wished her well, wished like anything that after tonight they'd have their killers in custody and she could get on with her life, and never think of him again. _A fresh start,_ he thought.

Jen shot him a strange look, and he realized belatedly how callous it sounded, him hearing that the woman he'd shagged the night before had left him without saying goodbye, and deeming it _good._

"She's a nice girl," he said quickly, "but she's…"

_She's not you._

"She said the same thing about you," Jen told him, and the thought that Jen and Juliet had stood together in this kitchen made his heart give a funny little jump within his chest. They never should have crossed paths, the woman he loved and the woman he'd used to try to forget her; they didn't deserve such discomfort, didn't deserve to be caught up in the wild flailings of his own heart. But if Juliet had talked to Jen, then surely Jen must know that things were over, between Nick and Juliet - not that there had been much of a _thing_ between them to begin with - and Jen would know, then, that Nick was a free agent, and he hadn't fallen in love with someone else, and then maybe -

 _Maybe nothing,_ he told himself grimly. _When this case is done, everything will go back to the way it was, and I won't see her again. Not until the next crisis._

Jen had made her choice, and she had not chosen him. He had to accept that, he knew he did.

"I'm sorry," Jen told him then.

 _Are you?_ He wondered. And why should she be? It wasn't as if she knew that she was the reason he hadn't been able to fully invest himself in Juliet. It wasn't as if she knew that when he looked at her he found himself overcome with longing for _her,_ and no one else. Or maybe she did know, and that was why she was sorry; maybe she was sorry that she couldn't give him what he wanted.

"Not your fault," he told her gently.

It was Jen who'd called an end to things between them, Jen who'd chosen the job over the joy they'd built together, but he had never been angry with her. He'd never hated her, never blamed her; he'd understood, on some level, the fears that drove her. A bad relationship had ruined her mother for life, had left Jen to grow up without a father, seeing first hand the damage that could be done when a woman gambled too much on a man. Jen had grown up strong, and fiercely independent, had learned to hold her own against the old boys' club and fought tooth and nail for a career she was proud of, fought to leave her mark on the world, to make a difference, to make something of herself. And Nick had asked her to risk it all, for him; no, he couldn't be angry with her, even now.

"Still," she said. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you couldn't be happy."

There was something strange in her tone, regretful in her expression, that left Nick wondering if she was talking about Juliet after all, or if she'd moved on to another topic altogether.

"She was never gonna make me happy, Jen," he told her.

_You were the only one who could do that._

Silence fell between them, for a moment, heavy with the weight of words unsaid. The clock was ticking; they needed to get to the Deputy Mayor's house, get their car in position and relieve Matt and Burrows, needed to keep an eye on things, and wait to see what sort of rats came crawling out of the woodwork in the small hours of the morning. There was a job to do, and they did not have time to linger, but linger they did, looking at one another, and in Jen's eyes he could almost see the wheels turning in her mind, words forming but not passing her lips. _Say it,_ he thought desperately, _whatever it is, just say it._ He was tired of the silence, tired of trying to guess at her thoughts, tired of trying to keep his emotions in check. He wanted to have it out with her, once and for all, he wanted -

"Time to go," Jen said softly.

Perhaps that was all the answer he was ever going to get.

"Yeah," he said.


	17. Chapter 17

Nick had always preferred silence to unnecessary noise. Oh, he enjoyed music, liked sitting around listening to his mates at the pub, talking and laughing and happy together, and he had always been fond of the sound of Jen's voice. He liked the sound of birdcalls through the trees, the sound of running water, the rustling of leaves. But silence had always been a comfort to him, too; he had always appreciated the chance to catch his breath, to order his own thoughts, to find peace without the ceaseless noise of the city. Just now, though, in this moment, he was fairly certain that silence was going to kill him.

He had been sitting next to Jen, in silence, for over an hour now. They'd done as they were told, swallowed their emotions and driven to their designated location within sight of the Deputy Mayor's house. When they parked he'd rung Matt, and he and Jen had watched as the silver car peeled off into the night, carrying Sergeant Ryan and Detective Burrows back to the station. Other cars came and went, as the teams switched places; their arrival times were staggered to avoid detection, and all in all Nick felt they'd done rather a fine job of appearing inconspicuous. Once he and Jen were in place, though, the engine off, no lights, windows cracked to let in a bit of a breeze, there was absolutely nothing for them to do but sit, and wait, and watch the Deputy Mayor's house.

In silence.

There were no distractions to be had; if Jen left the engine running all night they'd use up all their petrol, and if she only turned it over enough to get the radio going they'd kill the battery. Besides, the music might be a distraction, and chatter might, too, might cause them to look away from their target, and run the risk of someone getting the jump on the Deputy Mayor while they were too preoccupied to notice. Oh, a bit of small talk probably would have been all right, but small talk wasn't Nick's forte, and he didn't think he was capable of talking to Jen about _nothing._ They'd shared so much, before, and the thought of treating her as no more than a casual acquaintance was galling. Their encounter in the kitchen had set off an unpleasant whirling in the pit of Nick's stomach, left his mind reeling, but he did not know how to give voice to his thoughts, or even if he should.

Jen knew, now, that Juliet had called an end to things between them, and she knew, too, that he was not sorry to see the back of her. Jen knew, now, that he'd only spent one single night with Juliet, that there had been no great depth of feeling between them. But there was so much more he longed to tell her, so many things he felt she ought to know. That he had only taken Juliet home on the off chance that she'd help him forget Jen, that she had done no such thing, that it was Jen he wanted, now and always. Did she know how much he missed her, how much it grieved him to sit beside her and not be able to touch her? Did she know that one single word from her would be enough to bind Nick to her forever? What if she did know, but remained firm in her decision to move on? What if she'd found someone else?

"You seeing anybody?" Nick asked, staring straight at the Deputy Mayor's house. _Christ,_ he hadn't meant to say that. Nick had elevated biting his tongue to an art form, but when it came to Jen he had never been able to hide anything from her. Words came spilling out of him, whenever she was near, as if the levees of his heart had burst beneath the weight of her presence and no amount of restraint could stem the flood of his emotions.

"What?" she demanded. Her tone was sharp, irritated, as if she could not believe he'd had the gall to ask such a question. Nick couldn't quite believe it himself.

"Just making conversation," he said mildly, trying to smooth things over.

"I'd rather you didn't," she snapped.

That wounded him, just a little. Over the course of this never-ending day they'd done their best to just be mates, and conversation had flowed easily, so long as they remained focused on the case. Every time they drifted towards more personal matters it grew harder to speak, unfinished sentences left dangling off their tongues, neither of them daring to look at one another. The question hadn't been an accusation; after all, it had been six months since Jen broke up with him, and she knew he'd seen someone else in that time. Why shouldn't he ask after her, too? Why shouldn't he show an interest in her life? But Jen had sounded as angry as if he'd struck her, and he did not dare risk turning the tense silence of the car into a full-blown row over the way things had fallen apart between them. There was a job to be getting on with.

But he still wanted to know. He wanted to know if she'd found someone else, if another man had held her, touched her, loved her, even, if someone else had been able to coax her into trusting him where Nick could not. The minutes passed by, marked by the quiet ticking of his watch and nothing else. It was nearly 1:00 a.m., now, and all the world was still and black, no sign of life anywhere save for their car, where Jen was fuming and Nick was staring out the window stony-faced and silent.

_I'm sorry you couldn't be happy._

How was it that she could speak to him so softly, so tenderly, in a voice so heavy with regret while they stood in his kitchen, but snap at him like this now? He didn't think he deserved it, somehow. Neither of them did, he thought. They both deserved better than this cold distance between them, better than wounded hearts lashing out, better than silence, but Jen had made her choice.

Hadn't she?

For perhaps ten minutes they sat in absolute silence, a pall of unease hanging over them, before Jen sighed and leaned back into the seat, stretching her legs out in front of her.

"I'm not seeing anyone," she said. The anger had left her; she only sounded sad, now. "I haven't been out with anyone since…"

There was no need to finish that sentence, and they both knew it. Nick's head was buzzing, now; Jen hadn't been with anyone else since she'd broken things off with him. It didn't mean anything, he tried to tell himself; she'd wanted to focus on work, had left him over it, and she wasn't the sort of woman who went in for a casual fling. It would take someone special to turn her head.

"Me neither," he said.

Jen made an incredulous sort of sound, and Nick ground his teeth in frustration.

"Juliet was one time. Last night was the only time I saw her."

"Would you have seen her again? If she hadn't…"

There was something about the dark that made this moment feel oddly vulnerable, made Nick feel as if he and Jen were adrift somewhere, separated by a vast ocean of space and not sitting side-by-side. There was something about the quiet that made him feel as if he could say anything. His eyes remained locked on the Deputy Mayor's house, waiting to see if an assassin or an angry crew of gunrunners were coming to take him out, but his heart was pounding wildly in his chest, his whole being focused on Jen.

Would he have seen Juliet again? He'd thought about it off and on, over the course of the day. There was no compelling reason to pursue her, no particular affection, no great connection between them, but he had come to the conclusion that if Jen didn't want him it might be worth following up with Juliet, just to see where it led. Maybe Jen needed to know that, too.

"I don't know," he answered. "I hadn't decided."

"What were you waiting for?"

"You."

The word was out of his mouth before he could stop it. She'd asked a question and the darkness had made him bold enough to answer it. He was tired, mentally and physically exhausted after an unbearable day, but more than that he no longer had the strength to continue the little game that had begun when they'd faced one another in the breakroom at the station what seemed like a lifetime before. Skirting the truth, not touching on the gashes in their hearts that lay open and festering, pretending they were colleagues and nothing more, had sapped of his energy and left him weary. They were running out of second chances, he knew; either he could say something to her now, face the truth of the matter head-on, have it out one last time, or he'd give up all hope. Even if she didn't want him, he figured it would be better to know for sure, to put this thing between them to rest for once and for all. There would never be a better moment than this one, sitting alone with her in a car under cover of darkness, with no one around to bear witness to what took place between them.

The moment he spoke Jen sucked in a harsh breath, and Nick still as a stone, his hands on his knees, waiting. He waited, but she did not speak, and frustration gnawed at him. Why wouldn't she just bloody talk to him? Either she missed him or she didn't, and either way this silence wasn't doing them any good. What was she so afraid of?

 _What she's always been afraid of,_ he realized then. As difficult as it was for Nick himself vulnerability had never come easily to Jen; she did not share much of herself with others, protected the independence she'd achieved for herself fiercely. She'd never been a risk taker; that she'd ever let him hold her at all had been a leap of faith on her part, but she hadn't been able to follow through. She'd been afraid that one day he might not love her any more, that she would have given up all of herself and be left with nothing. She'd been more afraid of that than losing her job, and he knew it, even if she wouldn't say it out loud. But what more could he have possibly done to show her that he wasn't going anywhere? As far as Nick was concerned Jen was it for him, for life. She was the only woman he'd ever wanted to call his wife, and he couldn't imagine a world in which that wasn't true.

"I told you when you were ready, when you knew what you wanted, that I'd be waiting for you," he forced himself to explain when it became clear that she didn't intend to answer him. "I told you I'd wait, but you never came."

 _This is it,_ he thought glumly. This was where it would all end, for good. If she wanted him she would have said something before now, and he knew it. She'd made up her mind, and he would respect it, just as soon as she did him the courtesy of saying it out loud.

"I did," she told him in a small voice, and the force of those two words left him reeling from a sort of emotional whiplash he'd never felt before. He couldn't seem to get the measure of the situation; as soon as he thought he had her figured out she turned the tables on him, and he was left spinning, drowning, like a diver caught beneath a wave with no notion of which way was up.

"I drove to your house last night."

For the first time since their conversation began Nick looked away from the house; he couldn't help it. He had to see her face. Jen was clutching the steering wheel, her gaze focused with a lazer-like intensity on their target, but her eyes were wide and shining, and he could almost see her trembling.

"I made up my mind. I was tired of missing you. I thought I'd made a stupid mistake and I wanted what we had back. But when I got to your house-"

"Oh, _Christ,"_ Nick groaned. He couldn't believe how bloody stupid he'd been. If he'd just left Juliet at the bar, if he hadn't been so desperate to outrun his memories of Jen, it might have been _her_ he'd held the night before, and not Juliet. One reckless decision had cost him everything. What were the chances of that? He wondered glumly. It seemed a cruel trick of fate, that on the one night Jen finally made up her mind he'd been in bed with someone else.

"I thought you got tired of waiting for me," she said in a small voice.

"I've been waiting for you since the day we walked out of the Claybourne house the first time," Nick told her earnestly. He clenched his hands into fists on his knees, trying to resist the urge to reach out to her. Flowery words and poetic declarations of feelings had never been his remit; he could barely manage to speak, now, but he tried. He tried for her sake, tried for Jen, tried because he remembered every second they'd ever spent together, remembered how he had never felt so at home, so at peace, so complete as he did when he was with her, forced himself to speak because if there was any chance, any hope of getting her back he knew he had to reach for it now, before it was too late.

As he spoke a single, choking sound that might have been a sob escaped her, and his restraint shattered. He reached for her, then; he meant to touch her face, to press his palm against the cool softness of her cheek, to beg her silently to look at him and see his devotion to her written in his eyes, but at that very moment the hand-held radio on the console between them crackled into life, and they both jumped, startled by the intrusion. His fingertips trailed against the rise of her cheek, the briefest of touches, and then he reached for the radio.

"All right, boys and girls," the familiar sound of Terry Jarvis's voice had never been more unwelcome. "We've got movement. Look alive."

Sure enough, a large black SUV was lumbering slowly towards the Deputy Mayor's house. It was time to go back to work.


	18. Chapter 18

The plan had come together beautifully, in the end. Homicide, Serious Crime, and the Drugs squad had joined forces, and their two-pronged attack worked like a dream. The crews watching the Deputy Mayor's house had intercepted a team of three men on their way to kill him, and the crew who'd joined with Drugs in their bust down by the harbor had arrested no less than ten people in a warehouse full of guns and heroin. An hour after arriving at the station three of their arrested suspects were singing like canaries, and two hours after that they were all booked and sent down to spend what remained of the night in lockup. Sergeant Wolfe had called a briefing, for those detectives who'd been awake during the raids; half of the team was at home in their beds, and they'd take over once the sun rose.

And so it was Joanne Conner found herself leaning against a wall in the briefing room, her body still vibrating from adrenaline and too much caffeine, listening to Duncan Freeman rib his mates when the Sarge and his partner walked through the door.

Something had changed, Jo could see that at once. Despite the positive result both the Sarge and Detective Mapplethorpe looked drawn, haggard almost. They moved through the doorway as one, stood a little too close together as they surveyed the people milling about the room. There were grass-stains on the knees of the Sarge's trousers, and when Detective Mapplethorpe crossed her arms Jo caught a glimpse of a bandage covering her palm. Souvenirs from the dustup at the Deputy Mayor's house, no doubt; Jo had been across town with the Drugs squad, dealing with her own piece of the excitement, and so did not know, yet, what had befallen her Sarge. No one had been wounded, that was the report Jo had received, and with the Deputy Mayor safe, the suspects in custody, and all their people still standing, she would have expected the Sarge to smile.

Only he didn't.

She would have expected him to call out to his team, to gather them all around him for their own little check-in before the official debrief, but he didn't do that either. Nor did he fling himself into one of the empty chairs gathered around the table. He didn't raise his hand to wave at Duncan, who he'd promised to take out for a drink. He didn't even catch her eye and nod in recognition. He just stood there, shoulder-to-shoulder with Mapplethorpe, almost touching. _Almost,_ but not quite; the barest inch separated them, but they seemed shrouded somehow, standing in a bubble of their own making, set apart from the rest of the team.

 _What happened out there?_ Jo wondered as she looked at them. What could have left them both looking so miserable? She didn't think they'd fallen out with each other; surely if either of them were cross they wouldn't have lingered like that, together. Had they enjoyed working with one another once more, were they disappointed at the thought of their impending, inevitable separation? Had someone caused problems for them on the raid? Or was it something else, something to do with the way Detective Mapplethorpe had swayed towards him in the breakroom the morning before, the way the Sarge had reached for her before he let his hand fall away?

"All right, boys and girls!" Terry Jarvis came walking in the room behind them, and the Sarge and Mapplethorpe both moved at once, drifting away from one another and towards their respective teams, but as Jo watched them she saw how their eyes lingered on one another, and she wondered.

* * *

The briefing lasted an hour, as each crew relayed the information about their role in events. It had all been down to drugs in the end; the drug ring had orchestrated the murders to elevate the Deputy Mayor's position, but after he'd spent an entire day with the police crawling all over his house they began to doubt his dedication. He knew too much, names and dates and plots - he was currently spilling his guts to Sergeant Ryan in an interview room - and they decided it would be best to remove him. One team had gone to silence him while the rest of the crew had set about packing up their stash of contraband, intending to ship it elsewhere and wash their hands of it, but that was when the Drugs squad nabbed them.

Jen couldn't have cared less about any of it. All she cared about, truly, was Nick. When she closed her eyes she didn't hear the shouts of her team identifying themselves or the sharp echo of gunfire or the curses of the would-be assassins; when she closed her eyes all she heard was Nick's voice, soft and full of heat, telling her _I've been waiting for you since the day we walked out of the Claybourne house the first time._

She hadn't had a chance to respond to him. She hadn't yet had a chance to tell him how much she missed him, how desperately she wanted him to hold her. There had been no bloody time to tell him that she felt exactly the same. It had been five years - closer to six - since the first time she walked away from Nick, and while her career had continued to advance the rest of her life had remained locked in stasis. There had been no boyfriends - with the notable exception of Brian Van Der Burgh, may he rot in peace - and her circle of friends had not expanded beyond her team. She lived in the same house, went to work at the same place, lived the same days over and over. It was not until Nick had come marching into Matt's kitchen that she felt as if her life, her heart, had started moving once again. Everything had changed, when Nick came back to her, and she had felt herself hurtling towards _something,_ the biggest change of all. That was what had scared her off, six months before, the terrifying thought of losing everything for the sake of one man, but the last half a year without him had taught her a valuable lesson. None of it meant anything, if she didn't have him.

 _That_ was what she wanted to tell him, that she was finally ready, that neither of them needed to wait any more, that if he was in, _she_ was in, completely. Marriage, babies, moving into his nearly-finished house, spending every moment they could together, jogging through the park on Saturday mornings, falling asleep wrapped up in one another every night; she was ready for it, all of it. All of him. And she rather thought he was ready, too, but maybe he wasn't, maybe he wasn't prepared to forget how things had fallen apart, maybe he would need more coaxing, maybe she'd have to earn his trust again. She wanted to _know_ , wanted to talk to him once more, but this was hardly the setting for it, and she did not know when next she'd have a chance to speak to him alone.

"The rest of the suspects are going to spend the night in lockup," Jarvis was saying. "Day shift will handle them come morning. You lot, type up your reports, go home, and get some sleep. We're going to be untangling this for days."

It was currently about 4:00 a.m. on Sunday morning. By the time Jen finished her report the sun would be rising. But she'd have the day to rest, and maybe after she got some sleep, maybe then she could call Nick, and they could talk again, properly talk. All around her people began to file out of the room, but Nick wasn't one of them; he didn't seem to be in any hurry to go. The pretty blonde girl, the one who'd been partnered with Duncan, she kept looking at him, and Jen wondered what that was about, if the girl might have harbored a crush for her Sarge. The thought made her smile. Nick wasn't the type to carry on a relationship with a subordinate, and when it became clear that he had no intention of meeting her gaze the girl gathered up her bag and marched away.

* * *

Jo was trying to catch his eye, as everyone else started to leave, but Nick ignored her. She had her marching orders, and if she wanted to talk shop she could wait until Monday, when everyone was fresh and the chaos of the last twenty-four hours was a distant memory. Right now the only thing in the world that mattered to him was Jen.

There had been tears in her eyes, when he told her that he had been waiting for her, was waiting for her still, that she was the reason he'd never really given all of himself to Juliet. She had told him outright that she had gone to him the night before, and he needed no further proof of her resolve; if she had found the courage to drive to his house, then she must have been certain, as he was certain. And if she was certain, well...Nick knew who he wanted to share his bed when next he tumbled into it, who he wanted beside him now and always. There was only one woman for him; there had only ever been one.

He just needed a chance to bloody _talk_ to her.

Jen hadn't left yet, either; she was watching him, her grey eyes shining, and in those eyes he saw all the reassurance he needed. They were, once again, on the same bloody page. The only question was _how;_ the room wasn't empty yet, and Jarvis and Wolfie and Waverly were gathered in a little clump in the corner. If Nick lingered too long he knew they'd start to wonder what he was about, and the last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself, or to Jen. And so he took a deep breath, uncrossed his arms, and walked right over to her.

"Hey," he said softly as he reached her, hanging his head so that his voice wouldn't carry beyond her ear.

"Hey," she answered, swaying slightly towards him, and _oh_ , but his heart rejoiced at that, knowing that the push and pull between them was still the same, that she still drifted towards him in quiet moments such as this one.

"I'll need an hour to finish my report," he told her. Jen looked up at him, so close that his lips almost brushed her cheek as she moved her head, and the sudden, desperate need he felt to kiss her nearly overwhelmed him. "But after that," he continued, "when we're done. Let me drive you home?"

The question hung in the air between them for an instant. Jen had been driving all bloody day, and it was her car, not his, that was currently in the forensic team's custody after being riddled with bullets in front of the Deputy Mayor's house. It was time, Nick thought, for her to take a break, time for him to step in and care for her as he so dearly longed to do. Time for both of them to rest.

"Yeah," she said, and relief washed over him in waves. "All right."

She wanted to talk to him, too. She was no more willing than he to let this opportunity pass them by. Maybe, just maybe, he thought, they were going to be all right.

"I'll see you in an hour, Jen," he said.

"One hour, Buchanan," she told him, smiling. That smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life, and it filled him with hope.


	19. Chapter 19

The sun had just begun to peek over the treetops when Nick made his way to Homicide. After six months he thought it would feel less like coming home, stepping off the lift and facing that familiar set of desks, seeing Jen and Duncan and Rhys bowed over their keyboards, yawning and pecking out the last of their reports one letter at time. He'd been wrong on that score; he missed this place, still. Missed the work, missed his friends, but leaving had been the right call, professionally and personally, and he knew it. Things were different now, but they were better, too, and as he marched towards Jen's desk he tried to tell himself that maybe one day he'd come back here. It would have been foolish to follow in Matt's footsteps after seeing firsthand how disastrous it could be, handing a new-made Sergeant his own friends as subordinates. But maybe in a year, or two, he could come back to Homicide, could command his own team. That would be nice.

At the moment, however, he faced a dilemma. He had told Jen he'd come to fetch her after an hour, and an hour had passed, his report was finished, and his heart was aching for her. What he hadn't taken into account was the presence of their friends. Of necessity no one knew what had transpired between them, and he understood Jen well enough to know that she would want to continue to keep their relationship - if that's what it was - private, at least until they'd figured things out between them. He'd need to play this very carefully to avoid arousing suspicion.

"Oi, Freeman," he said, making his way over to Duncan's desk instead. Jen looked up at the sound of his voice, and though her eyes settled on his back Nick did not return her curious glance. He didn't need to; as he spoke to Duncan he could see her out of the corner of his eye, and she was already beginning to pack up her things. She knew exactly what he'd done, and she fell in step with him beautifully. The way she always did.

"All right, Sarge?" Duncan said, grinning. They were all exhausted, running on fumes, but the case had ended well, and they were happy.

"I'm knackered," Nick said. "But I promised you a drink. Friday sound good?"

Duncan leaned back in his chair, and Jen rose from her own, nearly finished now.

"Yeah, all right," he said easily.

"I like drinks, too, you know," Rhys piped up from his own desk.

"I bet you do," Nick told him, grinning. "You and Allie are welcome, too. And you, Jen, if you like."

At last he looked at her, found her standing by her desk with her bag slung over her shoulder. She looked as tired as he felt, but when he caught her eye she smiled, and his heart was lighter for it. Jen wasn't hiding from him, any more. In just a minute they would leave this place, together, and they would say all the things they should have said six months ago, and Nick could think of nothing better.

"Your shout, Sarge?" she asked, her eyebrow lifted in a teasing sort of way.

"Yeah, all right, I'll buy the first round," he answered.

"I'll be there."

And she would, he knew. He could see the certainty in her eyes, and when he cast his thoughts back over every word they'd spoken to one another in the last twenty-four hours he found all the reassurance that he needed. Jen wasn't running from him, any more.

"Me, too," Rhys said. "I'll drag Allie along."

"See you Friday, then," Nick said.

Duncan and Rhys chorused their goodbyes in unison, and as Nick turned and began to walk away from them Jen fell into step beside him. It was easy, the way she went with him, the way her graceful legs kept pace with his much longer ones, the way they both knew exactly where they were going.

"You leaving, Jen?" Duncan called out.

Jen never slowed. "I'm bushed," she said. "I'll see you Monday."

And that was that. Neither Duncan nor Rhys questioned her decision to leave, and if either of them thought it strange that she should choose to leave with Nick, they kept their thoughts to themselves. Nick was almost certain that Duncan, at least, must have sensed something was up, but Duncan was a mate, and he didn't take the chance to rib them, for which Nick was very grateful. A part of him hoped that when next he saw his friends he could take Jen's hand, and tell them all the truth. It was well past time, he thought.

They stepped into the lift together, and as the doors slid closed they both breathed a sigh of relief. There was so much for them to say, but now was not the time; they would wait until they were free of the station, until they were properly alone, and then...well. Then everything would change. For now, just for this moment, Nick stood beside her, his arm brushing against her shoulder, and smiled when she did not pull away. It was enough, for now.

* * *

As much as Jen longed to talk to him, to spill out her heart to him, she really was exhausted, and as Nick drove along she slumped against the window, nearly asleep. She did not watch the buildings passing them by, did not take notice of where he was going. His house or hers, it made no difference to her now. She just wanted to be with _him._ They were quiet, together, but it wasn't a tense, anxious sort of quiet. Hope seemed to hang in the air between them, a tenuous bubble of joy she was loath to burst.

The car lumbered to a stop and Jen jolted awake, looking around in confusion. They weren't in front of her house, nor his for that matter; Nick had driven them to a secluded alleyway between two buildings, and as he put the car in park he stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back against the seat.

"Nick?" she asked softly.

"We need to talk, Jen," he answered. "I'm tired of making assumptions and being wrong. I don't know what you want and I don't think this is a conversation we need to have at home. So," he gestured vaguely to the alleyway. "Neutral ground."

One of the things Jen loved best about Nick was his natural sense of consideration. It would have been presumptuous of him to take her to his house, when he didn't know what she wanted and they both knew Juliet had been there only the night before. And no doubt he thought it would have been inappropriate for him to drive her home, and then invite himself inside, to put that kind of pressure on them both. He had done this thing to show his regard for her, had brought them here so that she could decide for herself where they might go next. It had always been like that, with Nick; he deferred to her, always, made his own wants plain but waited for her before making a move. Jen couldn't recall having ever been with anyone who was half the gentleman Nick was.

"All right, then," she said.

They both unbuckled their seatbelts, tried to find a more comfortable position. He turned his head where it rested against the seatback, watching her, and Jen realized then that he was waiting for her, once again, that he wanted to hear her speak before he said anything himself. That threw her off balance; she had been expecting _him_ to be the one to make a grand declaration, to explain that he didn't want anyone else, that Juliet didn't matter, that he was ready if she was. Maybe he felt it didn't need saying. Maybe it didn't, but Jen still would have liked to hear it, anyway.

What did he want her to say? She wondered as she looked at him. Hadn't she made her feelings plain when she told him she'd driven to his house the night before? Wasn't that enough?

 _That's how we got here in the first place,_ she told herself. They had left so much unsaid, before, and the silence had torn them apart. _No more waiting,_ she thought. _No more second guessing._ What would she have said, if Juliet hadn't been there, if he'd opened his door to her in the dead of night and invited her in? How would she explain herself?

"I love you," she said.

Nick's eyes widened, his expression softening as he watched her. He hadn't been expecting that, she could see it now, and she smiled, relieved at having finally spoken the words she'd kept to herself so long. _Love,_ that was the beginning and the end of everything between them, wasn't it? That was all that mattered, really. The rest of it was just noise.

"When I...ended things, before," she continued haltingly, "it wasn't because I didn't love you. It was because I did, and that scared me."

"Jen-"

"Please, just let me say it."

He fell silent, closed his mouth and gave her a little nod, promised her he'd keep quiet until she'd spoken her piece. He really was the most beautiful man, she thought as she looked at him, not just because he was tall and strong, not just because he had a handsome face and thick hair she loved to run her fingers through, but because he saw her, because he listened to her, because his heart was _good,_ and kind, and true. There could never be anyone else for her; she knew it now, and she'd known it for years.

"I was afraid we'd get caught, and one of us would have to leave. I was tired of lying to our friends." She'd told him all of that before, of course, but there was more left to say, and so she carried on. "And you offered to transfer, and that scared me, too. We've always worked together, Nick. Even when we were Trish and Wesley, that was work. I was afraid that if we didn't have work to keep us together everything else would fall apart. I was afraid you'd resent me for making you leave. I was afraid you'd realize you didn't want me, and you'd regret giving up your career for me."

His dark eyes watched her, calm and thoughtful; he wanted to contradict her, she could see that in his face, but he didn't, just let her talk because she'd asked him to, and she loved him for it, the way he listened to her so completely.

"But then you left anyway. I didn't realize...I thought you were like me. I thought you loved the job and that it was what you wanted but when you left I realized that the job wasn't the most important thing to you."

"It never was," he agreed quietly. Such simple words, but he said them with such heat, and in those words she heard everything else he did not say. It was Jen that mattered most to him, she could see that now; Homicide didn't mean anything to him, if she wasn't with him. His actions had proven that.

"And I've had all this time to think," she forced herself to say. "I had the job. I had the career I'd always wanted and I was living my own life, but I realized last night that it wasn't enough. I could have - _we_ could have - so much more. And I'm sorry I took that away from us."

"You needed time," Nick told her softly. How could it be, she wondered, that after everything he could still be so understanding? How could he accept her flimsy excuses, and not hate her for all the grief she'd brought to them both?

"I've had enough time," she answered. "I know what I want, Nick. I want you."

He smiled and reached for her hand, laced their fingers together and brought the bundle of their hands to rest against the solid muscle of his thigh.

"This is home," she said, gesturing between them with her free hand. "You and me, together, this is our home and I've never really had one of those before and it scared me. I didn't realize how badly I could want it, or how much I'd miss it. But being without you, Nick, it...isn't good enough, for me. I want us. For as long as we can, as long as you'll have me, I want us. And I know you were right, before. I made the choices. I didn't let us do that together. But I want that, now. If we still can. If it's not too late."

Tears began to gather in the corners of her eyes, not because she thought it was too late, not because she was heartbroken, but because as she spoke Nick looked at her like she was the only woman in the entire world, like every word she'd said was already written on his own heart, and because she knew before he even said a word that he felt exactly the same way.

"For the last five years," he said, "I think all I've been trying to do is get back home to you."

A ragged, choking sob escaped her, and Nick reached for her at once, pulled her bodily out of her seat; Jen moved with him, settled herself upon his lap and buried her face in the crook of his neck, his strong arms wrapped around her, holding her tight. No one else would ever understand, she thought, what had passed between them during the year that they were married. Without the distractions of the outside world, entirely dependent on one another, they had drawn as close as two souls could ever hope to be. The rightness of it, the warmth of him at her back as she slept, the comfort of his smile beside her, the simple domesticity of sharing a home and a bed and a life, it had been quite the most beautiful experience of her entire life - apart from the constant threat of danger. And when he'd come back to her, when they'd fallen in with each other once more, they'd tasted it again. It had scared Jen, at the time, the thought that now they could be properly married, if they wished, no expiration date in sight, just the two of them, forever. Before, forever had seemed like a burden too heavy to bear, but now it seemed like a promise she'd do anything to keep.


	20. Chapter 20

Though the curtains were drawn they could not completely block out the cheery midday sun, and Nick woke slowly as the light danced over his face. He did not immediately open his eyes; he was warm, and safe, and content. He was right where he wanted to be, in a bed that still felt familiar, after six months away from it, with his arms wrapped around a woman he'd never forget, the soft scent of her hair and the smoothness of her skin against him reminding him with every breath he took that somehow, some way, they had made it through, together.

It was Jen's bed he slept in, and it was Jen he held in his arms. At last, after everything, she wasn't running from him, and he didn't need to chase her memory, any more.

There had been no question in his mind that they ought to go to hers. While she'd sat cradled on his lap, clinging to him, while he'd held her so close and whispered to her how he loved her, he had known, even then, that this was where he wanted to be. Juliet had been in his bed the night before, and he didn't want to bring Jen there before he'd had a chance to wash the sheets - or better yet burn them, and erase all traces of that particular disaster. Jen had suggested it herself, that he take her home, and he had agreed gladly, and neither of them had addressed the specter of what had gone before, not when he kissed her, gently, or when she took his hand and led him through the front door. They had not talked about how he had touched another woman, let her draw so close to him, but they had, by unspoken agreement, laid down in Jen's bed only to sleep. Nick had stripped to his boxers and Jen had tugged on an old, oversized t-shirt, and they had curled up together, his arms around her, her head on his chest, exhausted and elated and relieved just to be with one another, and sleep had come for them both quickly.

He was glad of it, now. Glad he'd had the chance to rest, glad he'd been granted this opportunity to wake slowly and full of longing for her, knowing that if it was a physical display of his commitment to her he could make a better showing now than he could have done hours before, knowing that it didn't matter, really, if they came together now or tomorrow, knowing that they would, and that it would be worth the wait.

Carefully he lifted his arm - the one caught beneath Jen's neck - and checked his watch. It was just gone noon; now would be a good time to wake. If they slept too much longer they'd get no rest when night came for them again, and Monday morning would be all but impossible to bear. It would be best to rise now, and enjoy what remained of their Sunday, together.

Jen grumbled as his gentle movements disturbed her, but when she turned in his arms she was smiling, her bright eyes dancing over his face. There was no reason not to, any more, and so Nick did not hesitate; he reached out and gently brushed her soft blonde hair back from her face, and returned her smile, delighted and hopelessly in love with her.

"Good morning," he said. Such simple words, and yet they seemed monumental, somehow, because now he was saying them to _her_ once more. It was hardly morning, but it was the first time he had woken beside her in months, and he rather thought it might be a herald of things to come, the start of something new, and something better, the start of a life in which he said those words to her each and every day. He could think of nothing better.

"Morning," she answered, grinning. It seemed Jen was as pleased to find him in her bed as he was to be there. One of his arms was still slung over her waist, and she snuck her hands between them, reached up to let her fingertips brush against the stubble on his jaw.

The moment was quiet, but it was not tense, as so many of their quiet moments had been over the last day and a half. The quiet was soft, and full of promise, understanding, even; he did not need to speak, because he knew when he looked at her that she was happy, and he knew she could see that same happiness written on every line of his face. But as he watched something in her expression seemed to shift; it was not sorrow, or doubt he saw there, but her eyes had grown thoughtful, and he waited, quietly, for her to share her heart with him.

"Did you really want to be married to me?" she asked him finally, the pad of her thumb dragging against his bottom lip. Nick pursed his lips and kissed that thumb gently as he considered his answer. It had been foolish, he knew now, to talk of marriage that day in the car when she was hellbent on leaving him and his careening flight into commitment only terrified her, but she didn't look scared, now, and so he didn't try to hide the truth from her.

"I did," he told her. "I do."

"How can you be so sure?"

Gently Nick caught hold of her, rolled them both so that he was settled on his back, and she was draped over his chest, her chin resting just above his heart while she looked at him, and his hands dragged slowly over her back.

"I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about you," he said, speaking slowly, softly, trying to think his way through it. "I never needed anyone. I was always happy on my own. But then you came along and…" he shrugged, and she grinned, and he knew then that she understand. "You mean everything to me, Jen, and I want every second I can have with you. I want all of it. I want us paying the bills and cooking dinner together. I want to come home to you every night. I want our clothes in the same closet. I want all of it."

 _Like it used to be,_ he thought, _but better._ He knew what it was, to share his home and his life with Jen, but the first time around they'd been scared, and just getting to know one another. It was different now; now he knew her, inside and out, and now he could hold her, and now they could simply be themselves, honestly, openly, together, always.

"Even after…" She left it hanging; there was no need for her to continue. He knew what she meant, and so he took her hand, the one with the bandage on her palm, and kissed it gently.

"Especially after that," he said. "I know what it's like to be with you, Jen, and I know what it's like to be without you. And now I know which one I'd rather have."

She smiled, bowed her head and brushed her lips against his chest. "I do, too."

"Yeah?" he asked. He wasn't asking if she preferred being with him to being without; he knew the answer to that question. What he was asking her, in that one simple word, was whether she wanted to be married to him, and when she looked at him her smile was brighter than the sun outside her window, and he knew her answer before she even spoke.

"Yeah," she said. "I want to marry you, Nick. I've never wanted that with anyone before, but I want it with you."

Those words, the same words he'd spoken to her the day everything fell apart, falling from her lips now, brought him more joy than he could bear. He reached for her, then, tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her to him, and when their lips met his heart began to sing.

* * *

Nick had promised to take Dunny out for drinks on Friday night, and when the time came that's exactly what he did. Nick arrived at the pub first, ordered a round of beers - the bartender had looked at him askance when he'd asked for six of them, but Nick had just smiled, and the bloke relented. A server helped him haul the drinks to a table in the corner, and just as he settled himself in a chair his phone buzzed with an incoming text message.

 _Running late_ , it said, _but I'll be there. Buy a girl a drink? I love you_.

Nick smiled as he tucked his phone back in his pocket. Jen was coming, and she loved him; everything was right, in his little corner of the world. There had been nothing pressing on at the office, just clean up from the debacle with the murdered Mayor - Jarvis was right, they'd be untangling that mess for months - and so there was no reason for them not to gather here, all his friends in one place, and take a few minutes to simply relax, and enjoying being with one another.

Duncan turned up first; he shook Nick's hand, and laughed as he took the beer Nick offered him.

"That's what I like about you, Buchanan," he said as he settled into his own chair. "You always keep your word."

"I do my best for you, Freeman," Nick answered. They clinked their glasses together in toast, took a long sip, and then leaned back in their chairs, content.

"So, you're happy in Serious Crime, then?" Duncan asked him after a moment. "No second thoughts?

Nick grinned. "None, mate," he answered truthfully. No, Nick wasn't having second thoughts, wasn't thinking longingly of returning to Homicide. The work in Serious Crime was interesting, and he'd taken to being a Sergeant more easily than he ever thought he would, and the transfer meant he could have Jen, fully, completely, always. There was no doubt in his mind he'd made the right choice, and he knew for a fact that better things lay in store for them.

His phone buzzed a second time, and he pulled it out of his pocket, smiling while Duncan frowned.

 _Leaving now,_ the message said. _Should I wear it?_

Nick's answer was immediate.

 _Yes_. He fired off the message and tucked the phone back in his pocket.

"You ever gonna tell me the real reason why you left?" Duncan asked him shrewdly.

It was a fair question, Nick knew. Duncan wasn't a fool. In the days before his transfer Nick had been surly and out of sorts, but he'd given no explanation, and before that he'd given every appearance of being happy to stay in Homicide for the rest of his career. It had come as a shock, his announcement that he had intended to leave, and he knew it must have caused a stir among his friends. They'd been wondering about it for months now; it was time, he thought, for them to learn the truth.

"I will tell you, Duncan," he said. "Let's just wait for everybody else to get here, yeah?"

Duncan was watching him thoughtfully, but he didn't disagree, just nodded and took another sip of his beer.

Rhys and Allie turned up next, Matt just behind them, though it was plain the three of them had not come together, and Matt seemed to be an island unto himself, sitting awkwardly on his chair, forcing a smile when he caught Nick's eye. The drinks were passed around and their voices began to rise; Allie was teasing Rhys about something stupid he'd done during the investigation and Duncan was playing referee and Matt looked like he'd swallowed a lemon, and Nick watched it all with his heart pounding in his chest, waiting for Jen to arrive. Everything was about to change, and Nick could hardly contain his own joy.

"Where is Jen, anyway?" Matt piped up, but he had no sooner spoken than she appeared behind his shoulder.

"I'm here, I'm here," she called breathlessly, draping her bag over the back of the empty chair next to Nick. "Sorry I'm late."

And then, before any of them could say another word, she leaned over and kissed Nick lightly on the cheek.

He was beaming when she pulled back from him, when she sat down beside him and accepted the beer he offered her. The air seemed to have been sucked out of the room; their friends were all watching them in silence, eyes wide, mouths gaping like fish plucked from the sea and dropped into a strange new world they could not comprehend. It was deftly done; just like that, Jen had turned them all on their heads, left them full of questions. She had, very neatly, created an opening for her and Nick to make their big announcement, and if the grin on her face was anything to go by she was enjoying the confusion she'd created immensely. They hadn't discussed this part of their plans, but Nick didn't mind the way she'd taken charge of their revelation; he was right there with her, always.

"You lot should see your faces," she said, taking a sip of her drink.

"Something you two wanna share with the class?" Duncan asked, his eyebrow raised incredulously.

"Yeah, actually, there is," Nick said. He reached for Jen's right hand, and she took it, and when she smiled at him he forgot every worry and every doubt he'd ever had.

"We're getting married," he said, and as he spoke Jen held up her left hand, to show off her ring, and their friends erupted into such a joyous cacophony they drew stares from the surrounding tables.

On Sunday afternoon, after one kiss had turned into a monumental shag that had left them both breathless and weak, Nick had taken Jen back to his. As she watched he'd stripped the bed, and once the sheets were balled up in the corner he had asked her to sit on it, and while she did, all bemused, he had gone to his bedside table, and pulled out a small black jewelry box.

 _You don't have to wear it now,_ he'd told her, _you don't even have to say yes now, but I need you to know that I've been thinking about this for a long time, Jen. This is what I want. You are what I want._

She'd laughed, and accepted the ring at once, and they'd gone bouncing back against his bare mattress, overjoyed and overcome and desperately in love with one another. It hadn't been the most elegant of proposals, and no doubt news of it had come as a shock to their friends, but as far as Nick was concerned it was five years in the making, and not a moment too soon. He wouldn't have traded it for the world.

"Congratulations," was Duncan's response, while Allie crowed, "See! I told you they were shagging!" and Rhys squeaked a shocked "Bloody hell!"

Matt was scowling; Jen had told him how that night when he'd taken Juliet home, that night she'd first decided to come back to him, she and Matt had been out drinking and commiserating over the fact that they had nothing in their lives but the job. No doubt Matt was hurt, now, thinking maybe she'd lied to him, thinking about all the secrets she'd kept from him, but there would be time to soothe his wounded pride later. Right now, this moment, was about Nick and Jen, and the rest could keep.

"Seriously, how long has this been going on?" Rhys asked.

"That, mate, is a very long story," Nick told him. Though he kept hold of Jen's hand he brought it to rest on his thigh beneath the table, and they sat like that for the rest of the night, fielding questions from their friends, and laughing, and holding on to one another.


End file.
